The Sparrow's Unspoken War
by TheBatKid
Summary: For First Mate Jake Sparrow, the journey is far from over. As he delves further into the seven seas, the dreams he experiences become more intense, and the people he meets along the way grow stranger as he grows older. Jack is forced to watch from afar, but perhaps that's not all he can do... (Sequel to 'Sparrow Boy.')
1. Dream Chaser

The Sparrow's Unspoken War

The morning broke silently over the horizon. Jake's eyes opened to it, surrounded by blood and death and an unmistakable odour of defeat, the scene of a battle that had taken place whilst he had slept. He could only muster a sigh in response.

Bodies littered the once peaceful ground he laid on, with their guts hanging out and the crimson life-fluid pooled around their shining blue coats, each man's eyes as cold as the buttons they wore. It was something he remembered; a reoccurring nightmare that he was forced to walk no matter how much he begged. Every night brought it back to him, and every night he wailed the same plea.

"Dad?" he whispered softly, "Dad? Where are you?" by that time he had the knowledge that Jack wasn't present but, nevertheless, his dream insisted on the same old routine, forcing him to get up from the hardened mud and walk through the wreckage of what was once a field.

The men weren't men. Some were in a sense, what with their hardened faces and cynical outlooks, but others were simply fresh-faced young rascals that hadn't comprehended the cry of war. As Jake looked upon them he felt a tug at his heart, trying to disassociate himself from humanity so he could find the strength to keep moving. Bayonets lay wherever he looked; in the hands of their wielders; in the puddles of blood that surrounded them; embedded in the chests of friend and foe; crushing the poppies that dare breach the mud and give some bloom of hope. It made him want to cry. It made him want to turn and hide in the burnt stumps that once stood as oaks, his lip a quiver as he walked with an unexplained limp.

The skies rained bloody whilst he tried to keep his head clear, granted his beating heart kept the adrenalin pumping. He didn't remember fighting a war but by looking around him, seeing the death and feeling the marks that inflicted his body, he knew he had been a part of it. There was a metallic taste in his mouth that he tried to bite back. There was a triumphant song in his heart that didn't belong to him, yet he knew the words as though they were his own.

Then he saw him – on the horizon, facing the sun as the dawn broke and allowing the light to flood past. His arms were extended like he was hugging the morning, like there was some sense of victory when the morning came and the world wasn't covered in blood around them, rather the hope for a new world. Jake wanted to keep looking, he wanted to keep staring but it was too much, with the sun's glare forcing his gaze away just long enough for him to catch a familiar face.

"Follow me Sparrow Boy," purred the soft voice of someone he once knew, long ago when time was harsher, "It's time to go in the light."

But when the child stretched his hand to them and let a smile flicker to his face, the light became all too much. It enveloped him, surrounded him, forced him away from the world that he had come to love and the people he had come to know as he screamed a silent scream. The soft voice purred again.

"It's time to go in the light, little Sparrow Boy."

His eyes opened. The world tumbled around him like he had just fallen back into bed, the soft material underneath him like a messenger from the Gods, the screech of gulls outside his porthole like the sweetest music he had ever heard. Rickety floorboards creaked as the ship rocked towards their destination, which was a place that Jack hadn't quite discovered. With a sigh he rolled on his back, watching the sweat roll down his hands as though he had been out in the sun.

He was ten years old by the time the dreams had started, and each one depicted his death in a more than gruesome manner. For a while, it had predicted that he would die in an avalanche beside his father somewhere in the world, perhaps on a land they had discovered and took the liberty to plunder. Up until he had experienced a brush with the afterlife and met a very deceptive witch – a woman by the name of Lucinda, if he remembered rightly – it had been relatively peaceful. But after that, they had morphed into something all the more horrifying.

Jack knew that his son was going through nightmares. He sometimes sat up with him when sleep wasn't an option, choosing to play games and watch as the dolphins chased their ship along the water, but he couldn't stay awake forever. It was always with reluctance that he shut his eyes on his son, though he made sure that Jake was tucked securely under his arm every time.

Barbosa had been at their heels for some time before the dreams started, and it seemed to affect his son more than anyone. The pirate often caught him staring in the far distance, lost in a memory that Jack wasn't part of, searching his mind for a reason why Hank Dodge brayed for his blood and wanted his head on a spike, yet Jake refused to talk about his past. His guards hadn't fallen. He wasn't stupid; he loved his father and, in some ways, trusted the crew with every part of himself, but he couldn't bring those harsh memories up without having a damn good reason for it. And so he fell deeper into the dark abyss where he was slowly vanishing, bit by bit, as though Sparrow Boy returned and Jake gently died.

"Up again?" Gibbs asked cheerfully when the child appeared from his chambers, the sun barely in the sky as he skulked along the deck, "Yer just in time ta help me pack this away!"

"Goody," was all Sparrow Boy replied before he gripped the sodden ropes, noting how they had remained wet from a storm some days ago. He put it down to the sea air but it was frightfully annoying.

Jack, who hadn't managed to rest due to his steering of the ship, watched his son with a melancholy interest. The dark bags under his eyes were evident no matter what he did, highlighting the sunken effect of his gaze and the glimmers of life that still sat on his cheeks, slowly fading with every breath he took. Tiredness could kill. Jack remembered reading that in a baby guidebook some time ago, when he was collecting pointers on how to be a father.

"Gibbs," the captain called after a while, "Go rouse the men. I want the deck swabbed!" he was rewarded by a harsh look from his former first mate but, without reason to argue, he wandered to awaken the crew, certain that he would be met by a swift kick to the groin.

"They're not going to like that," Jake noted as he rested against the banister. His hand was placed firmly under his chin and his fingers brushed against his lips, his eyes soft to gaze at the unbroken canvas in front of them.

"They're not in a place to argue."

"But they will anyway. That's why you hired them. That, and you liked the look of that lady."

"Never hurts to have a beauty on board the Pearl," his father grinned at him, "You'll appreciate that more someday."

"Hm."

The silence that rose between them was unstable. It hadn't reigned supreme for a long time, not since they had brought themselves together and began acting like a single unit, but Jack found it creeping in more and more. Time went on, and the colder his son became. It was like watching a jewel slowly sink below the ocean's black depths, just in reach but, at the same time, so far away that it was a wonder it could be seen.

And Jack wouldn't let him sink without a fight, "Let's go on an adventure."

"We're already on an adventure. Unless you think getting cursed by a witch as ordinary, in which case I seriously worry about your mental health."

"Let's go on a different adventure," his father rectified with a nonchalant smile on his face, "Let's go on an adventure that'll end all adventures. We'll make it in the history books with this one."

Sparrow Boy let out a sigh, his hands steady on the banister as he turned to smile at the captain, "I think we're already there. Someone said about the two most well-known pirates getting in trouble after a parrot raid. Sounds weirdly like us, don't you think?" he was so tired that he couldn't care less what they did, so long as it meant the nightmares would be staved off.

"We'll make the grandest voyage the seven seas have ever known. It'll be regarded as a conquest of pure poetry – the ladies will swoon, the children will sing songs, the-"

"The men will join our crew and become part of the most daring pirates ever to sail the seas. I know. You've mentioned before."

Jack instantly changed tact when his saw his son's eyes flicker. It had been a while since they shared a peaceful breakfast together, and it would have been wonderful for them to have chance to discuss things. Things that didn't verge on the illegal, that was.

"Come on then," he was suddenly beside his son, slipping a hand on his arm to gently tug him to the dining hall; a recent attachment, though not one Jack used often, "Time to eat."

"Not hungry!" Sparrow Boy protested weakly but allowed himself to be pulled, mainly because he didn't have the energy to fight against it. Those bags seemed to deepen when he thought about the strength required to do his daily duties.

"Then time to get hungry."


	2. Steering

Breakfast was eaten mostly in silence, with Sparrow Boy talking sparingly and Jack not wanting to press him. The dreams were evident on his face; he looked up as though he weren't really there but instead, someone was standing in for him, someone who didn't have his energy or his boyish charm, all of which had served to make him a quick favourite with the crew.

When he vanished back into his room, he wasn't seen again for a large portion of the day. Jack tried to put it down to sleeping and concentrated on the water in front of him, intent not to lose face in front of his men, determined to not grow too worried about someone who was perfectly capable of handling themselves. It was hard when the growing fatherly affections crept through his mind and danced right before him, as though they wanted him to drop his work just to check on Jake.

The boy wasn't in turmoil. He was sitting up in his bed, bandaging up his hand after another attack at his mirror. There wasn't any emotion in his dulled eyes – instead, he looked almost lifeless, rather like a porcelain doll that sat atop a little girl's shelf. The brown irises stared out into the blackness of his room, shaded as he had closed his curtains to try and keep the sun out. He wasn't in the mood for the sun. He just wanted the world to be plunged into darkness, if only because it meant that he could have another day behind him.

How time was running away from them! Every night that passed brought another dream, and every dream that came brought another reality. The gentle lap of the water under them wasn't enough to relax him, the world still alive with un-uttered screams and voiceless cries, each one louder than the gulls that still screeched outside his windows.

He could hear them. He could hear them, and they weren't there. The nightmares came only to remind him that he was ultimately that scared little child, no matter how much he trusted his father. Jake didn't fear death – that would be stupid, because it was coming to him no matter what happened. What he feared was being away from the only people that seemed to care about him.

"Jakey," the door creaked open to reveal his father, face half hidden by the wood and ringed fingers clasped around the edge, "Time's getting on. You'd do well to come help me steer."

"I'm not in the mood," came his grumbled reply. His voice was muffled by the pillow that he lay on, splayed like a seal sunning itself with his hands above him and his eyes not visible. Jack wanted to turn him, to stare into those familiar beacons and see what type of distress his son found himself in, but he didn't. He had to keep his head clear so his voice would be too.

"You've got to steer. If you're going to lead the ship one day, you're going to have to know how to steer."

"Because you've never crashed before?"

"That was one time and it was dark." A bare-faced lie; it had been on multiple occasions that Jack had crashed their ship, usually in the daytime, quite often after he had been hitting the rum bottles. The number of crashes had declined after Jake stole the rum, though he was forced to listen to his father say, 'Why is the rum always gone?'

But he didn't have the energy to argue, "Fine, I'll come out in a minute." The pirate didn't move, unsure if he really wanted to leave his son to wallow in his own misery for longer than he had to, granted he knew that Jake was capable of it.

The boy had been born a fighter – bit by bit, he revealed to Jack what he had gone through and all he had done, showing that his level of survival was well beyond what the captain initially thought. Though he was reluctant to share the details with Hank Dodge, he had managed to gather a few little bits about the boy and his complicated relationship with his son.

He recalled one conversation they had had together, "Hank's…Hank's been my friend since I was really little. We used to play together, when the weather was nice or we just wanted to get away for a while. He was a bit different when I became the Blacksmith's apprentice, but not too much. I just thought he was jealous. I guess I was right."

And the level of hurt in Sparrow Boy's eyes had cut Jack's heart deeper than any sword could. His hand had instinctively stroked his son's soft cheek, as though he had the ability to make him forget everything with just one brush of his fingers, that fatherhood had made him a magician as well as a better pirate.

"Er…Dad?" he was pulled from his trance by Jake's voice, one of his eyes peeking out from his plump white pillow as his hand fisted his hair, "You've been staring at me for ten minutes. Do you want me to throw a spider at you?" Jack smiled and said nothing, simply vanishing from the room whilst he felt a bloom of hope in his heart. They had become much closer since that incident, yet Jake always loved to use his father's fear of spiders when it suited him.

Gibbs was busy with his hands on the steering wheel when Jack returned. The man smiled without looking at him, too focused on the clear sea in front of them and the storm that was slowly brewing.

"He comin' up?"

"Should be," the captain replied as he took up the banister space, "I'm not sure he'll stay when he sees the storm."

Gibbs offered him a sympathetic smile, "Still getting scared of them? I thought that's the past?"

"They make him nervous. He says the sea doesn't like storms, and he's more like the sea than anything else," it was true – Sparrow Boy was wild, but he gave the appearance of a vastly unexplored brilliance, the calmness that hid his chaotic nature the first thing people noticed.

"He'll be alright, Jack. If I know anything about you Sparrows – and I do by now – yer not the types ta be intimidated."

"Yeah," Jack huffed out a laugh before he pulled a shining red apple from his pocket, his lunch and dinner since he didn't have any appetite. He bit into it with a smile on his face; Sparrow Boy loved apples with a passion, but only because he could throw it at people and blame it on others. "He's my son alright."


	3. Storm Catchers

Jake looked up expectantly at his father, clutching a small rope in his hands that was barely holding the sail. Wind battered viciously against his face as a shiver ran through his body; the storm was coming, and those 'pirate extra-ordinary's' hadn't bothered to put their sails up.

"Remind me why I let you deal with this?" he screamed to Jack whilst he struggled with his own rope. The child swung down with an expertly timed leap, riding the winds that still attacked them like he wasn't facing his biggest fear, hoping that his voice didn't squeak with the sheer weight of his terror. There was no time to be looking the idiot.

"You told me it's my job!" Jack reminded him, his hands still pulling on his rope and his eyes still fixed upon the charcoal black sky, "I'd assumed you didn't want to be involved!"

"You're right – I didn't!"

With that Jake glided through the air again. His feet landed on the second mast where he began to tie the cord, securing the sail that gave them some hope of riding that storm out before he disappeared once more. It was a wonder that the child was so agile; Jack always admired the way he swung on the ropes, as if he were a monkey that had been doing it all his life. All he really needed was a tail.

Rain began to pour as they continued grappling with their preparations, which effectively soaked everything they were trying to use. Any bits of cord they held were thoroughly sodden by the time they could actually apply them to something, granted Sparrow Boy had become more nervous under the forks of lightning raking overhead; the mighty God's cutlery as He sated His cruel appetite.

The thunder made Jack spring into action, "Jakey, get yourself inside! I'll handle the rest of this!" for a moment it looked like he would comply and listen to the man that had technically brought him into the world – in a metaphorical sense of course, since Jake hadn't felt as alive as when he was with his father – but Jack was shocked to see him turn, that defiance so familiar in his brown eyes.

"What, and let you deal with this yourself? Didn't I already make that mistake?" an impish grin replaced the fear that lined his features, "Hop to it, Dad! We've got a ship to steer!"

It was an order that Jack followed. It was easier than arguing with his headstrong little boy, who had proven that the only things that rivalled his pirating were his debate skills; or, as Gibbs liked to refer to it, 'His unbearably stubborn talent for getting his own way.' With a renewed determination, the captain clutched ringed fingers on some of the notches of his wheel, relishing in the comforting ridges that had worn into over the years and smiling as his son glided between posts.

Storms still scared him. He normally called them 'The Devil's Bassinette' and said they were 'being played by a herd of monkeys that went deaf in a library accident.' Sparrow Boy couldn't understand how some people would move to stormy areas and chase the things for fun, when it seemed only obvious that they could kill them. His mind couldn't cope with some things.

And when it couldn't, he usually just ignored them. That was what Jack worried about with his dreams; he wasn't getting over them as easily as he got over most things, what with his naturally built resilience and his ability to think, 'Screw it; this should be fun.'

"Land!" the child called to pull his father from the trance, his hands clutched on the tightened ropes whilst he leaned forward. Jack always worried that he would slip and his tip-toe stance would tumble, sending him down onto the deck below and making him snap his neck. It was a childish thing to worry about, but one that still concerned him.

"Friendly?"

"Let me just get my invisible telescope and I'll have a look!" his smile was hidden since his back was to Jack, but the pirate could almost see the glow on his face, "Go towards it! We'll need a place to dock her while the storm rides out!"

Jack's entire body was drenched enough for him to feel the chill – that alone made him think about his son's words, though he knew that he couldn't risk docking in hostile territory. Last time he had done that, some of the soldiers' wives weren't exactly frightful of him being there…

"We'll have to keep going!" he soon called to his son who had finally turned around. Sparrow Boy gave him a look that said every word he could ever want, and none of them particularly good ones. "We can't risk being locked up! I've had enough of prison cells for one month!"

"I'd rather be in a prison cell than stuck in the eye of the storm! It'll get worse from here on out!"

"We can't dock her, Jakey! You get inside; I'll make sure that she fares against the wind!" again he was met by those cold eyes and that angry glare, the one that he had seen many times during their travels and he had grown to expect in some ways. After all, Jake was still a boy.

But his persistence was something to be marvelled at, "I think it's safe to say we'll get killed if we go with your plan! Do I need to put this down to a crew vote?! Because I will Dad!" there was a triumphant smile on his face when he threatened that. It was because he knew that the crew would always take his side on the matter, the look on Jack's face a picture whenever they did so and something that made them feel warm inside. Sparrow Boy's path wasn't always one they wanted to take but, well, it was always worth it for that look in their captain's eyes.

So Jack just sighed and pulled at the steering wheel instead of arguing with his son. The ship turned in the raging waters around them, facing east to the tiny Island that the pirate suddenly had a bad feeling about.

"After this, you better go and get some rest!" he warned Jake as the child went about his tasks, "I'm not having you fall asleep on me!"

Jake managed to grin when he responded, "Yeah; would be a shame if the only sensible one wasn't there!"


	4. Dock

"Well," Sparrow Boy said sheepishly, "Looks like you were right, Dad."

Jack couldn't speak for the rope tightening around his neck, thrust upon his knees as his crew were forced to the same position. Men that he couldn't quite see began to jeer at them whilst Sparrow Boy was pulled into the largest man's grasp, his hands tied behind his back so he couldn't deliver another swift punch to someone's jaw.

There was a foul mouthed person at the head of the men that swarmed them. He stood at the terrifying height of five foot six, much taller than the young Jake but quite a bit smaller than his father, which made the pirate wonder how he had come to lead such an army. Perhaps he had some secret weapon? Perhaps he was truly a plunderer of the seven seas, forgotten over the time he had settled down on the island…

Eyes as cold as ice raked over Jack's features, as though calculating where the points of interest were and how he would later make him a scarred masterpiece. A whisker of a beard sat on his chin, so wispy that Sparrow Boy thought it may have blown away in the wind, granted whatever jests he had were quickly silenced by the man covering his mouth. The hand smelt of malted beer; it was a relatively new thing that they had heard about but, so far, hadn't had the displeasure of tasting.

The leader's dark leonine mane shook briefly in the wind before he cackled, "And what business d'you have here?"

"Resupply," Jack replied with ease, that demeanour of responsibility hiding his nervous fatherhood, "Resupply and shelter from the storm. Looks to be a killer." He was met by a sword placed precariously at his nose, so familiar to the rest of his life that it didn't particularly bother him.

"Resupplies aren't exactly cheap. There's the matter of payment…" the eyes flitted towards the captive boy for a brief moment. They noted that he was swallower than the other crewmates, that his cheeks were sunken and his eyes seemed to have dulled to near nonexistence, whilst there was a certain heaviness in the way he fought back. Adrenalin had worn off; now he was struggling with the last strands of his strength, his limbs and extremities weighed down by the sheer force of his exhaustion.

Jack tried his best not to look. He tried his best to stare into the lifeless grey eyes in front of him, the snarled lips that were so cat-like that a lion would be envious, but he wasn't the type to avoid temptation. When he heard a half-hearted whimper from the child he loved, the pirate turned his gaze and was confronted by a sight he never wanted to see.

_Jake…no! _he thought inwardly though his face said it all – it changed to the point where even a blind man could see it, with the pupils dilated and the straight lips briefly parted until they snapped back shut. Any hope of neutrality was lost when the leader noticed his change.

"Mean something to you?" he asked casually, as though they were fathers collecting their children from school. When Jack didn't reply he repeated the question, the only change in his voice a hint of menace and a point of his sword.

That got him the reaction he wanted, "Yes, he means something to me." Oh, accepting weakness was hard, but it was harder when that weakness came in the form of love. So long had Jack tried to keep himself safe but now it was his Sparrow Boy on the line, his son that he wanted to protect from all that threatened them. And that wasn't exactly a small list.

"He's a lad," Gibbs cut in before Jack could say something stupid, which was nearly a given when they considered his history, "Just a laddy from some village. Nothin' more."

Sparrow Boy's eyes were soft as he gazed at the former first mate. He had proved often enough that he would do anything for the child, whether that ranged to common chores or dangerous delves into unknown caves; he would do it all if it meant Jack's son was safe since, for all intents and purposes, he was his best friend's single greatest legacy.

The terrifying big cat circled them for a moment, his horrifyingly short stature something to be mocked as he glared at them with merciless eyes, emotions dark and violent within them.

"What's the lad to you, then?"

"Our cabin-boy. He makes his livin' taking care o' things round the ship – cleanin', drying, making things bearable. He ain't hurting anyone."

"He sounds useful," the leader observed before prowling up to the child, thrusting his man's hands away and shooing him from the scene. Those eyes didn't lose their ferociousness as he glared down at the child, "What's your name?"

Jake didn't reply, instead staring defiantly back at him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I said," a gun cocked towards Gibbs's head, alternating between him and the captain whilst the rest of the crew remained untargeted, "What's your name?"

"Sparrow Boy."

Disbelief began to take away the vibrancy of his evil, "Barbosa's target?"

"Admirer. We were friends before Barbosa came along. After…" it was amazing what the boy could do when he was under pressure; with ease he began to lose face, as though he were falling to grief when he thought about his fake friendship with himself, "After Barbosa made his mark on him, I took up his name. Met Jack soon after that, and we've been sailing ever since. It's simple as that."

There was more disbelief before the leader finally pulled back. It was the screech of the wind that he heard; without thinking he turned from the boy but made sure he was incapacitated, with his men watching too closely to make a daring escape. He would have tried if it weren't for Jack's vigorous shakes of the head saying, 'No boy, no.'

"Take 'em to the brig," he decided once he saw how the storm grew, "We'll deal with it when the wind's gone."


	5. The Suitor in the Cells

They were separated. It only served to raise Jack's ire more as he saw his son being dragged away, his heels digging grooves in the dirt whilst he was taken to whatever jail cell they had available; one that wasn't filled with madmen and thieves, to be precise.

Gibbs couldn't calm his friend, much as he wanted to. There was something about a father not having his children that caused fire within their bellies, an untameable rage building in the usually collected brown eyes as he paced uncomfortably down the cell, dirt scuffing his shoes, hands wringing within themselves to the point where they almost smoked.

"The lad'll be alright," his former first mate reasoned with the near inconsolable man. It was the look of pure anger that made him silence and take his place back on the creaking wooden bench, unsure of how to pull Jack from his madness so they could formulate a plan. If only Jake were with them; they would be able to get far more done with the little boy, especially since he had a tendency to make such 'flawless' plans.

Where was Jake? He was trying to cope with the sudden exhaustion that ran through his body, leeching away the energy that had remained there. Silence descended over his tiny cage as he sat back against the bars, cold against his already icy skin, his voice a squeak as he heard the storm start up outside. There was a single window which allowed the moonlight to flood in – he avoided it because of the rain, taking what he needed when he was thirsty and trying not to scream when the lightning started.

Hay lay all around the floor. It frustrated Sparrow Boy that it seemed to be the normal, just slinging in a barrel of hay so that the prisoners didn't get too cold, that if their waste fell from their ravaged bodies it wouldn't make too much of a mess. It was a stupid thing to be angry about but, what with the storm raging outside and the absence of his father's soothing song, he couldn't much let himself think about other things. Other things would drive him into insanity. They had threatened to do it before, long ago in his past life…

"What's with all the hay?!" he screamed when one of the patrolling villains wandered along the hall, his face cracked by the blots of age and his eyes dulled with a realistic world view, "Do you guys eat this stuff? There's tonnes of it in here!"

The man didn't reply immediately, and when he did it was with a sigh in his voice. Sparrow Boy smiled as he imagined what caused that sigh; perhaps a ruined relationship with his wife or with his son, a boy that would be around the child's age, though much less equipped to deal with the world.

"Supposed to keep you warm."

"Oh brilliant – bits of straw to keep people warm. You must all be geniuses."

"Not our decision. We make sure the prisoners don't die and the leader's happy enough. We don't much care how you keep yourselves warm with it," he walked over to the broken door of the next cage over, where there were a few bones and broken teeth from what could have only been the last hostage. Sparrow Boy refused to call them 'prisoners.'

He wouldn't let the man get away so easily, "Well, that worked out nicely for that guy, didn't it? Hey mister, do you want some biscuits?" his gaze was sarcastic and his words were filled with venom when he turned, aware that the heavy iron door of the prison was opening. The expectation of a fat man wearing some grand suit was smashed when his eyes locked onto a fair beauty, her mouth an angry red slash and her dress as flowing as the clearest white stream.

She was a marvel. Brown hair bounced over uncovered shoulders as thin hands gripped the frilly skirt, lifting it so it wouldn't scrap along the dirty stone floor below. Her eyes took one look at the surroundings before she fixated them on the pathetic patroller.

"Father said we've got more prisoners!" her voice sounded like a harp being played by angels, each one blessed with the talents of Mozart and Beethoven and the grandest of all orchestras, "I'm surprised that you've allowed this after what happened to the last one."

More resignation in the man's voice, his captive captivated further, "It's only temporary, Miss Selina." That was when she turned to gaze at the hostage…and found herself spell bound.

He was different. His dreadlocked hair was kept in place by a red bandana, his bottom lip taken between two rows of teeth as though he were studying the world around him. Meagre pirate wear fit snuggly over a lean frame whilst his eyes – those beautiful, cautious brown beacons – held a hardiness to them, the sort of thing she had sought for in her land of soft suitors. They gazed at her so intently that she thought she would melt to the floor, her clear skin and wise smile a façade to her racing heartbeat.

"Hello," she managed to croak. He said nothing, just gripped one of the iron bars behind him and bent his knees up as if hiding his stomach. The dark circles around his eyes were an afterthought for the girl whilst she walked to him, watched intently by the patroller who had seen too many similar scenes.

As she bent down to reach eye level she noticed them, but didn't comment. They did nothing to hide his maturity, perhaps even gave him an air of mischief and mystery that she hadn't seen before, though she tried to organise her thoughts, "What's your name?"

Again there was no reply, at least not immediately, because Sparrow Boy had been told that a beautiful face could be incredibly persuasive, "Wouldn't you like to know, miss."

"I would," poor dear didn't understand sarcasm, "That's why I'm asking."

He kept his voice even despite the thunder rattling the building, having had many years of practice, "There's no reason for you to know my name. Where's my father?"

"Your father?"

"Ask your dad's dog here to fetch him for me, then we'll talk," he clapped his hands with an impish smile on his face, "Wouldn't you love to know my name, Selina?" frustration descended over her face as she gazed at his even features, his mystery only adding to her initial interest in him.

"Some people would think it terribly impolite that you know my name, yet you won't tell me yours."

"It's a good thing I'm not some people then, isn't it?"

Her soft blue eyes widened enough to let him see fascination twinkle there, dimmed only by the annoyance that came with being denied. An amused smile came across his face as his hands dug the dirt under him, humming a scanty pirate tune that he had been taught by Gibbs, looking down so as not to fall victim to her beauty.

"Howard, get this boy's father from his cell and place him in this one." She soon ordered as she rose from her place, the hands back on her dress so she could try and walk out.

"And my crew, if you have the time!" Jake added with another smile on his face. When she relayed the second order to her dog, it only made the smile broaden.

She stepped out of the stone building with a renewed sense of hope for her generation. Of the men she had seen before him – not men of course, but suitors for her thirteen year old self – Selina had believed that no one would capture her interests, much less make her heart skip beats just by looking at them. But he had did it, the mysterious pirate boy, the impish rascal that sat in the prison; a bad boy by all accounts, but _him._ She had never been so fascinated by one person.

And Sparrow Boy sat back in his prison cell, watching her as the door was closed and she gave him a parting glance. He smiled again but that one was genuine, soft. There was no hope in his heart that she thought him as beautiful as he thought her, and no hope that they would have more than those few words to remember each other by. She was the daughter of a tyrant. He was the son of a pirate.

The storm raged on, and he didn't care.


	6. The Girl and the Boy

Selina couldn't get Sparrow Boy off of her mind after that, choosing to stare out of her arched window as the storm raged on, bringing her feminine fury to a point where she could barely contain it. His face resonated in her thoughts as she caressed the soft features she was born with, the frilly dress she was forced to wear replaced by comfortable black trousers and an attractive cotton shirt that hung loosely on her frame.

There were no boys like him on the island. They were all soft in the absence of challenge, each one born with a frightfully strong father that would rather argue than actually raise their sons. What Sparrow Boy had was an air of sophistication; a spark that she hadn't been confronted with, if masked behind his common visage and the sarcastic attitude she couldn't figure out. Whilst she imagined where he could have got that from, her mind wandered over his tanned features and stark resemblance to his father, who was handsome in himself on a slightly different scale.

Perhaps she was getting bored? She had grown too used to the suitors that came to her that she was imagining Jake to be something more, something that she could find some hint of excitement to. It was just an illusion. It was her girlish mind telling her to take a chance, nothing more.

But oh, he was a mystery. Those brown eyes stayed with her as she began to write in her journal, recounting the day she had spent in her room whilst the other children played without her. Satin curtains danced in the wind when she opened the window, just to feel a hint of freedom around the warm room she kept, just to watch the tidy dolls she had been given fall in the tempest and lay broken around her bed, as useless as they were when they had been purchased. Frilly dresses were scattered as Selina tried to remember what she did that day, if she had done anything at all.

In the end, it was hardly a surprise that two-thirds of the entry contained Sparrow Boy and her brief encounter with him. The words caressed his features in a way that no hand could, describing them as though they were angelic and every man she had met was a leper compared, granted she held no reason not to find him attractive. She was after all, a thirteen year old girl, one who was expected to marry soon and produce her father a fine heir.

Curling a lock of brown hair around one thin finger, Selina dared to write on the paper, _The Boy in the Cell,_ and placed it underneath a sketch of him, one that hardly did Jake justice. The lines were wobbly and she was no artist with shading, but the eyes were identical. Deep, brooding, calculating eyes…

"He's just a criminal," she reasoned with herself before placing the diary away, disgustingly pink locked in the pirate's chest she kept under the her desk, "It's not like there's a million more of him on the planet. He's just…you're just angry because he's not telling you his name. When you find it out, you'll forget. I promise you, you'll forget about him." Her soft face caught itself in the full mirror that sat in her corner; unsurprisingly, it wasn't convinced that she would so easily forget the young boy, much less his mysterious nature and insistence to keep his name.

Back in the cells, Jake had pressed himself tightly to his father's side in an attempt to keep warm, his lips blue as the storm outside battered their prison. He found no reason to shiver when Jack's arm went around him, but his mind was far off from the comforting words and gentle purrs he offered.

Why did that girl speak so softly to him? Why did her face resonate in his mind, the softness of her smile and red lipstick like a picture within, his heart warmed when he thought of her sweet voice?

It was a silly crush. He had heard of them before, heard how the girls had often had one on him when he had refused to make their acquaintance or pay their prattling attention. There wasn't much love in his heart for inane, childish pastimes, and he had often seen having a crush as one of those. It seemed that his ten year old conquest was to get through what he had once hated, beside his father who would surely give him guidance.

"Wait til we get out of this, Jakey," Jack was saying to his absentminded son, his arm tightly over him despite his own coldness, "It'll go in the history books. We'll be having that adventure I talked about!" there was a warmness in his smile as he gently rallied his crew, who were already trying to keep themselves away from the sweet sight of a man and his son. It was strange to see Jack like that – he managed to convert it into a strength, and there were no weaknesses when he gazed happily at his boy.

Selina dropped down on the massive bed she kept, pulling the thin see through curtains along so she seemed respectable in sleep. The one thought in her mind was how her dreams would be filled with adventures out at sea, how the wind would take her far away from her Hellish reality and she would be with true men – men who knew how to make a voyage exciting and alluring, and who would band together to protect her throughout.

Then she thought of how Sparrow Boy would leap down from the mast in the nick of time during a battle, drawing his sword with a battle cry that would wake the Gods. She would watch, mesmerised, as he attacked the pirates that dare come near her, like he was possessed by a mighty warrior who had chosen Selina to be his wife.

"He's just a criminal," she reminded herself as she fell to the sweet kiss of sleep, "He's just a criminal. There's a million like him. I promise you, there's a million like him."


	7. The Morning After

The next day, Jake found himself rudely awoken by his captor dragging him up, the scruff of his neck clasped in thick hairy hands and his throat uncomfortably hugged by his clothes as he stumbled forward. Whatever one of the brutes manhandling him didn't think about his comfort, his strides larger than the entire ocean whilst they stormed into the sunlight.

The traces of the storm were being chased to the horizon, where they disappeared to make way for a dazzling orb. Jake looked for a moment, mesmerised at the beauty that could be birthed by hardship, admiring the way the water glittered and gleamed as the sun gently broke its chains. All notion of his situation vanished for that brief moment in time, though it was brought back with a dull thud when he was thrown to the ground.

Hard mud was always so gentle on the joints.

"Did you sleep well?" came the mock affection, brought to him by the short statured leader that seemed to make grown men quake, his leonine features highlighted by the golden sunlight streaming behind him, "It's not exactly cosy in those cells, is it?"

"It's comfortable enough. Besides, I had a pretty good pillow," another smile stretched across his face, defiant to his surroundings, fearless in the face of his captor's army and their drawn swords. They stood in a sort of crescent moon flank where they watched, silent if not for the strangled breathing that escaped them, their vocal chords damaged in wars and accidents.

Selina took her seat on the side-lines, hidden so she could better appreciate what was going on. Her father – a Leon without a last name – stood a little way in front of his men, his legs separated as he placed his fists on his hips. Sharpened yellow teeth showed in placement of a smile, that wicked grin she remembered from both her tremulous girlhood and her adventurous marriage year, though Sparrow Boy didn't flinch from it. He simply stared back, unafraid. For a moment all she wanted to do was shed herself of the troublesome white dress she wore and replace it with trousers, so that she could stand beside the child and not look so out of place. How she longed to face her father with that fearlessness.

"Your first mate tells me you're a cabin boy; a slave on the Pearl?" he asked with interest in his eyes. He was met by crossed arms and a straight face, with Jake deciding that his words would only land him in trouble. "You're not a slave?" more silence. "If you're not a slave, you must be a crew member. But I've never seen someone so young being a crewmate on any ship, let alone the Pearl. You look very alike to Jack…"

Now that earned a response, "Well done genius; you've cracked the case. I'm First Mate Jake Sparrow – please, hold the applause." Hands up and head down in mock humility, Jake took the opportunity to glance at the pair of eyes watching them, her feminine form seated on the furthest barrel from the dock that was still close enough to watch it. He smiled. At least she knew his name.

"First Mate?" disbelief ran through the man's eyes, then shock, and then pity, which was gone almost the moment it had arrived. Perhaps the boy reminded him of a time long ago when he too was a youngster, granted Jake could care little for those times. Ancient history had to stay in the past, else it would cloud their judgement and make them second guess themselves.

"First Mate," he affirmed.

Silence. The men around their leader didn't say a word, a hushed whisper passing through them that didn't quite make it to the last man, hands still clasped firmly on the swords that glinted a polished silver and were curved at the tip.

"You can't be First Mate!" it was that birdsong that drifted to them, moments before the chirper came into sight to stand beside the leonine man, her shivering form like paper against that of the big cat. He glanced down at her with a grimace on his face.

"Selina, I told you to stay-"

"You can't be First Mate!" she brushed her father to one side with an uncovered shoulder, "You've got to be younger than me! You can't be older than ten!"

"I'm almost eleven!" he replied indignantly, like that helped his case at all.

"You can't be First Mate to a ship! It's not possible! It's…it's not fair!"

"That's what happens when your father's the captain! I don't think you'd have all your pretty dresses if your dad kept sailing!" they met each other in the middle of the clearing, the mound they stood on hardened and sprouting new life from its back. Two faces came up close to each other in a sort of silent challenge, each one determined not to lose as they gritted their teeth and bared them, their eyes as alive with fire as the seas the night before.

Leon could only watch, interested by his daughter's sudden exclamation. She had always been such a timid thing, squirreling herself away in her room instead of reading in the study. What had brought on such a change?

"I think my father wouldn't want to be sailing the seas when he's got a child!" she replied, though she knew it wasn't true. If the circumstances had been different and her mother had survived, they would be a pirate family just as Jake and Jack, but the circumstances hadn't been different. Her mother had been felled by an arrow, and her father had grounded them to a stationary life.

Jake let out a huff of laughter, "It's a good thing I'm not a delicate flower like you, isn't it?! Poor little poppet!" he spat the last words out as though they sickened him, squeezing through his porcelain white teeth despite his admiration of her.

"You've got to be the single most annoying boy I've ever met!"

"Sorry, you were expecting a knight instead? Tough luck – that stuff only happens in books!"

"In books, the men are always so nicely spoken! You should probably read one once in your life!"

"I don't need to! My life's exciting enough!"

She felt her hands rise to her face, where she wanted to claw something for the frustration Sparrow Boy caused. Never before had someone got so far under her skin, so deep into her mind that she found herself actually caring what he said, listening to his taunts and jeers like they meant something.

"You're so difficult!"

"And don't you just love it!" he turned his gaze from her to face Leon, his hands outstretched to reveal rope burns and several aged scars, "Will you just cuff me already? Listening to her is ten times worse than the prison cells."

But the leader was intrigued. He saw the fire in his daughter's eyes and the tiredness in Sparrow Boy's, the faceoff between them more enlightening than entertaining, which gave him the faintest inkling of an idea. Perhaps Jack would be open to it if he went about it properly…

"No lad," he purred with sudden affection, "My men'll release your father and crew now. I think we can strike up a deal for your freedom."


	8. Waiting for Jack

Jack didn't know what to make of the situation. At first he had been dozing in a prison cell, clutching his son tightly by his side as he struggled through whatever nightmare he was having, and then he had watched when that same son was taken into the daylight. Horrible notions of death buzzed through his mind whilst he watched the door, his thoughts on whether that was the last walk Sparrow Boy would ever take.

But he had fretted for no reason, since other men had come to release him and his motley crew sometime after. The only concern he had was for Jake, that precious jewel he had found in a village and never wanted to lose again, still somewhere he didn't know with people he didn't trust.

"Where's the boy?" he asked, willing all fear out of his voice so that he'd make a more convincing noise, "Where've you taken him?"

The brute in front of him just stared. He had heard stories about Captain Jack Sparrow. He had once followed his adventures with interest, always the first to pick up the latest tale from his herald, always one step ahead of the guards when talking about the happenings of the sea. At one point, he would have considered Jack to be a sort of hero. Not anymore. Leon had saved him from certain death at the hands of his old captain, a man who was crueller than the plague and had more bite than the three-headed Cerberus. He owed his life to Leon. He owed his life to the person Leon once was; a softer, gentler man, with a wife and baby daughter who he loved.

"He's at the Main House," his companion interjected, a pair of lifeless grey eyes on Jack as his mind scrawled through information, "He's with Leon, the leader. I think they're waiting for you."

"Why's he there?!" the exclamation came out without Jack's meaning it to. Instantly he tried to rectify his mistake, tried to gain the upper hand and nonchalant look he had portrayed before but judging by the smirks on their faces, it failed miserably. Of course it did. Jack wasn't indifferent to his son – it was Sparrow Boy, the miniature, sarcastic version of the captain in every way, and someone who he would die for. Not many people made that list.

"Don't worry; he's already told us of your little affiliation," the once-hero worshipping man replied, a great hand clasped on his friend's shoulder as they made their way to the prison door, "Your son's just waiting for you to get up there. Best not to keep Leon waiting, too. He's…hardly a patient man."

The way they spoke didn't do them wonders in the pirate world. They were educated men, each one of them possessing the ability to read and some of them able to write, but their brutish exteriors made them liable to talk with fists rather than words. It made them gain a reputation they didn't want to live with. And so many of them had taken to the seas, determined to fight against the pirates they met in an attempt to make the world a little safer. They hadn't expected to become pirates themselves. Oh, how the world worked in funny ways…

Sparrow Boy watched as Leon poured him another drink, apple juice made to look like whiskey. He didn't dare sip out of it in case of poison but he was certain to thank him, voice small and distressed whilst he gazed about his surroundings, acutely aware of Selina as she sat upright in her chair. Stick thin arms rested on the wooden rests, her eyes soft as she gazed at him and yet at the same time, full of fire, full of unbearable rage that he had dared argue with her.

"Where's my father?" he asked with knees thrust against his chest, tight so he could spring a surprise attack if he had to. Leon didn't immediately answer him. Instead he sipped out of his drink, hand against his chin as he hummed a tune Jake didn't know and didn't care to pay heed to.

"He'll be here," the man finally said with his eyes closed and lips around the glass. Selina could only watch as her father drank back more of that God forsaken stuff; those were the drinks she had nightmares about, remembering the rages he used to fall to when he used to sip on it, a while before her mother died.

"The thing is, we've got an adventure to go on. We've got to go. Now."

The boy's glare could sear wood. It could rake through the deepest bowels of the strongest boat and render them useless, melt them until they were nothing more than slag. That kind of glare always excited young Selina and in some ways, her father could find admiration in it, knowing that it took guts to stare at someone so hotly when he had a gun in his pocket.

"Adventure?" eyes fixed on him sharply, observant to his change in face, "What kind of adventure?" he could only shrug as he thought on his reply.

"The type of adventure to end all adventures," that grin was back; enthusiasm that Selina hadn't seen before, rather forced to watch as the men around her went about work and tried to keep their lives just on the side of bearable. It was all so depressing. But Sparrow Boy didn't seem like that – he seemed genuinely fixated on doing what he wanted to do, travelling with his father through untold terrors as he made his way in the world. He cared only for his gun, his sword and his ship, with everything else in the background when he looked out at the glittering ocean before him. Treasures waited for him out there. Hunger and apprehension were two things he knew well, and worked with to make his conquests winnable.

"That sounds amusing."

"Believe me, you have no idea."


	9. Proposals

**Putting a small hiatus on this story! Sorry!**

* * *

When Jack had eventually reached them, he wasn't surprised to see Sparrow Boy so relaxed. He had taken up a seat on one of the window sills, foot placed firmly on the wood with his knee bent as his other lolled over the side, a nonchalant look about him that didn't betray the anxiety he was feeling. Pride flickered through the pirate's chest when he strode forward, being met by Leon and his mighty mane before he could reach the boy.

"Ah, Jack Sparrow," he greeted warmly with an outstretched hands, "Apologies for the imprisonment. You can understand, being a father yourself."

The man's eyes traced over the grand room quickly to catch Selina, who was still watching Jake and his relaxed staring out the window. Her posture was straight against the hardened back of her chair, her cherry red lips puckered perfectly as she continued her observation, careful to note every little twitch and movement his son made. He was tempted to smile. He didn't of course, but it wasn't every day that he saw someone so infatuated with someone else.

"I can understand when someone kills for their kiddies. Locking them up however…that's sort of a grey area for me," Jack replied before he pushed the hand down, the flourish of his own causing a smirk to rise to Jake's lips. He couldn't laugh. He willed himself not to laugh.

"Aye," Leon sat back in his stiff seat, gesturing to the grand scenery around them as a smile transcended on his face, "What'd you think of my home, then?" small talk. How Jake despised small talk, with its pointless conversation points and the way people seemed so disengaged during it. On a completely different end, Selina adored small talk, and she took every opportunity for it when her father made the time for her. There wasn't the pressure of making up meaningful chats when it came to small talk; it only mattered that they had something menial to say, and her day was full of menial things.

Jack, who was rather like his son, spoke only a few short syllables before he got to the really important stuff. He wasn't there to make a new friend, after all. He was there to make sure he and Jake got out of there alive, with the rest of the crew on board the Pearl and a maddened chase sending them over the horizon. There were flickers of amusement on the boy's face as he shot glances towards Selina, intent on watching her father's reactions to Jack's talk. None of them were particularly good.

"So, why's it that my son and I are enjoying this lovely whiskey in your home?" the pirate eventually asked when it seemed all major points had been covered, his hands clutched on the patterned crystalline glass that was filled with intoxicating loveliness. Silence descended over them as Leon smiled, brandishing his big-cat teeth like they were a badge of honour.

Jake didn't like that smile, he decided. He didn't like the way it sunk into every surface available, changing them into sombre bits and bobs that had been collected by God-knows-where, transforming even Selina into a stiff-backed rod.

"That's the big question, isn't it?" he purred through sharpened fangs, "The real reason you're here. I bet it's slightly confusing, what with my imprisoning you."

"I've seen stranger," Jack remarked.

"Well, it has to do with my lovely daughter here. We've had quite a problem with her recently; she's at the marrying age you see, and she's denied marrying every single suitor I've brought to her thus far. Then your son comes along and she's more wide eyed than a badger in the moon."

Jack's hand gripped tighter over his glass as he took a swig, eyes thoughtful, "Aye?"

"She's a tricky one to handle – she gets it from her mother. Selina's the type that has to be impressed before she becomes interested in something."

The girl's cheeks were burning redder than a tomato as she glanced at Jake, who had stopped listening some way in. He looked out on the sea ahead of them, his mind on how he would scour it and become its master one day, so far away from the little conversation that it was a wonder he hadn't disappeared. It was a marvel to watch his face drift from emotion to emotion, smile to frown, all in the space of a few seconds whilst the discussion continued.

"How olds' your boy?"

"Ten. He's nearing eleven now," there was a smile on Jack's face when he glanced at his son, the glass propped against his head and his other arm resting on the armchair. His boy had always been a great source of pride for him, making him happy to recall their adventures and how fast he had grown, the face free of all the horrors that plagued him. That was…until the dreams started…

Leon nodded with his wispy beard curled between two fingers, eyes closed to better drink in Jack's words, "That's a good age. The age they normally start getting jobs."

"Pirates don't need jobs," Jake interjected when he finally brought himself back. His father looked up and offered him a weak sort of smile, the one that told him he had fully grasped the conversation and where it was going but, as always, he had it somewhat under control. And by somewhat, Jake meant not at all.

"You do when you eventually get a wife," the man replied without looking at him, "And I think that time's coming sooner than you think, Jake."

"A Sparrow? With a wife? Don't make me laugh."

"It's not impossible Jakey – your grandparents were married for a time."

"Remind me where my grandmother's head is, Dad?"

"Point taken," he turned his gaze back to Leon, "You want my son to marry your daughter." There was an air of tension as Selina locked eyes with Jake, horrified by the revelation, like she hadn't been listening to their conversation and hadn't clocked on to what they were talking about. The boy just shook his head before turning back to it, his hands fiddling with the curtain's tieback.

Leon smiled that sharp toothed smile, "Precisely. We could have a good thing; grandchildren, a legacy, shared ownership of my island and all the men on it, including the slaves. It's a great bargain. Your son seems a good sort."

And he directed his gaze on the miniature Jack at the side, who had fallen silent with a glint in his eyes. He couldn't tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling, but he judged whatever it was couldn't be good.

"Dad…"


	10. Running

Jake dived through the guard's arms as his crew made a break for the ship, screams sounding behind him and the harsh cry of the Big Cat whilst he gathered his men. Jack, who had been so proud of his little boy for the hasty escape, quickly made certain that a few barrels were rolling down the street so as to displace any of their pursuers, his movements as fluid as the water that sat some ways ahead of them.

"Dad!" his son called when he found himself trapped by a group of men. They were thuggish, tattooed and the typical stereotype for all things pirate, but Gibbs had found a weak spot in them that he took quick advantage of. With one swift knife throw, he'd cut the rope that rested above the child's head, sending a small satchel of apples raining on his captors and enabling him to slip through their legs.

Selina watched them go. She watched as Sparrow Boy nimbly avoided her father's men, their hands no match for his finesse, whilst her heart filled with a longing that she couldn't quite describe. It wasn't a longing for him; it was a longing to be on the ocean and to have a future, be seen as a fierce pirate rather than the daughter of one, which would never be fulfilled when she stayed so passive against her fate.

So she stood from the sturdy chair and rubbed her aching back, which always hurt when she forced herself to sit straight. It was a matter of moments before she had left the classical surroundings that was her father's living room – a room that she belonged to in no way, more like the furniture than anything else.

"Did you have to be so blunt with him?" the captain laughed as he and his boy matched strides, "A simple 'no' would've sufficed, Jakey."

An impish grin fell to the boy's weary features, "Well, I thought my way worked. You didn't seem to mind much when we bolted out of there."

"I think I was laughing too hard to care."

And they continued on down the cobbled roads and the homely little shops, smelling faintly of freshly baked bread or those famous gypsy cakes that Jake had a liking for. Mentally he made a note to steal some at some point – a note also made by Jack, unspoken and important – before they clambered up their plank and felt the sturdy wood of the Pearl underneath them, so gently cradling their minds that it was hard to focus on the chase.

It was quick that the crew took their places; a flurry of limbs and blurred motions found everyone at the helm of their careers, their bases of operation so very dependent on the facilities available.

"Hoist the sails! Aim the cannons! Let's get ourselves ready!" Jake called as he pulled himself up the mast's ropes, careful to balance himself on the highest point so he could look at the carnage before him. Men falling over their feet, a few women that had made themselves look boyish struggling with their work, a handful of the inexperienced trying so desperately to prove themselves…and on the island, the scene was much the same. He smiled before his orders were carried out and looked at his father, who shot him that sly grin back and revealed his rows of pearly whites.

Then there was another person who caught his gaze. He gasped, almost losing his footing on the mast before he clutched the pole next to him. A thin splinter entered his hand but so intense was his concentration that he didn't notice it, his sight locked on the familiar white dress that seamlessly avoided the men around it, the stick thin arms and beautiful brown hair that he had seen in the prison cells.

It was a mere matter of moments before she had flung herself from the stone pier to land on the boat, which was quickly pulling away. Jack was silent when he saw her; his eyebrows rose and he noted that his son took the rope-way down, impressing Selina even more when she saw his lithe body descend from the mast to land on the boat.

"What're you doing here?!" he asked with that fire in his eyes, "You're supposed to be with your father!"

"Just because you denied a marriage proposal doesn't mean I have to stay with him!" she retorted with that same fire, granted hers was duller and burnt with a different sort of pain, "I'm not some flower that you have to take care of! I'm capable of that myself!"

Jake could only snort out a laugh as he looked at the thin beauty before him, with such soft hands and innocent features that she couldn't have spent a day working. How would she know how to take care of herself? Princess had been looked after since the day she was born; if he had to drop his work to make some time for her and press her dresses, he knew he'd go insane.

"Dad," he turned to his father, "We've got to take-"

"No time now laddy," Gibbs interrupted them. One of his fat fingers pointed towards the dock, where several of the men were clambering onto boats and attempting to speed up after the Pearl. Even with her unnatural swiftness, they'd never be able to drop Selina off and make an escape.

So he turned with that huffed expression on his face, "Fine, but you're on your own. I'm not taking care of you." Selina could only look over that handsome young man that infuriated her so, forced to her to second guess herself and didn't fight for her hand, even denied it openly before making a daring escape. How could he be so pig-headed and arrogant? How could he act like she needed his help when she didn't?

"I'm sure I'll be fine without you," she hissed in reply. Jake's shoulders went up in one of his trademark shrugs and he vanished off to the mast, in which she decided to watch his monkey like movements.

Jack leant casually on the wheel in front of them, open palm clasped on his chin as he watched the scene in front of him. Gibbs, who had been a silent witness as well, smiled beside the man like he had been with Sparrow Boy since he was a little nipper and to watch that development – see as the boy went on from his previous conquests to his unknown love war – made him feel all warm inside.

"Movin' on to green pastures," he mused beside the father, whose eyes suddenly went wide when he heard the words. His body went rigid as he imagined his little boy growing up so quickly, seemingly moments after he had found and built a relationship.

"Not on my watch," he mumbled possessively as he looked at his son, "Jakey's my boy for a little while longer."


	11. When the Nights Grow Colder

They lost the pirates some hours later and, to celebrate, Gibbs had ordered a batch of rum to be opened and an immediate dance party on deck, which Selina and Jake decided they were best left out of. The pair had vanished to separate accommodations whilst Jack presided over the party, his eyes sharp for any sight of his boy or the girl that threatened to take him.

It was late when he eventually got to bed. The moon was high in the sky and shone a silvery glow down on the Pearl, bathing it in a radiance that was hard to come by, but it was barely noticed by Jack as he un-tidied his sheets and pulled the pillows from their organised positions. He just wanted to rest.

"Another successful voyage," he declared quietly when his cheek touched the comfortable cushion, cold and welcoming after the harsh day he'd had. For a few minutes he drifted in and out of sweet unconsciousness, losing himself to the beautiful land that lived deep in his mind and was peopled by just him, his crew and the little boy he cared so greatly for, sat upon a hillside where they would play their games.

The door to his bedroom swung open. Before he might have attacked, sword placed beside him so he could spring at any intruders and make them sorely regret their trespassing, but he had had too many of those encounters to know who it was. A soft candle cast light over him as he slowly turned his head, eyeing the blurred form that stood so calmly in the doorway.

"Bad dream?" he softly asked when the room came into vision. At the side was an old chest of drawers that they had stolen from Tortuga, and that was accompanied by a full length mirror which Jack used to try new outfits on. An old washbasin was his only bedside table, rarely used unless he was meeting royalty or another captain, though the amount of times he bothered with it had risen since Jake insisted on his cleanliness. In his words, 'I won't be the son of a drunkard. You can get drunk all you want, just don't smell like one.' That memory always brought a smile to his face.

The form nodded before stumbling to the bed, moving some of the covers so that it could slip innocently between them and snuggle into Jack's side. Warmth spread through the pirate as he looped an arm around his son's waist, his breath warm against his ear so that he could relax more.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Nothing to tell," the sleepy boy grumbled, "It's always the same."

"Still not making sense?" a hand found its way into the tangled dreadlocks that he loved, so similar to his and yet so different, so much softer. They had had that same discussion a thousand times before; it always came back to the same point, with Jake not understanding them and that making him even angrier, like his whole existence depended on deciphering his dreams.

When he shook his head, it was weak, "They're getting worse." His hand scrunched in the fabric of Jack's nightshirt, which was simply an old scrap of cloth that had been stitched into some familiar shape. That didn't matter to Jake – what mattered was that it smelt like his father and made him feel safe, even though his father was the same man half the world wanted dead.

His voice was so pitiful that, for a moment, Jack wondered if the boy he cradled was really his son. Sparrow Boy had always been so sure of himself, so calm and collected no matter what he was faced with, but that front always broke when he was curling up to the captain. It were as if he didn't want to keep up pretences. As if…he felt safe.

"They'll end soon laddy," he promised softly, "You've just got to get through these next few nights and they'll be over with. Nightmares are hard to sleep through." He should have known; nightmares were primarily what he got at night, so much so that he thought that he could sleep better through them than he could with his happier dreams.

The hand tightened on the shirt and Sparrow Boy thrust his face deeper into his father's shoulder, "I don't want to go back to sleep."

"You've got to try your best," the braided beard brushed soothingly against his cheek, beads clattering together with dull thuds, "You need your rest."

"But-"

"Who's the dad here, Jakey?"

"Judging by score, it's me."

"And by blood, it's me." Calloused fingers laced themselves in soft dreadlocks again, as though they were a comforting song that Jake had heard once in his boyhood, locked away in a dingy apartment that his mother liked to trap him in.

"What if the dreams come true? What if…they're predictions?" he wasn't a fan of the supernatural but with the strangeness of his thoughts, Jake was willing to believe anything. He would even believe that ghosts were chasing him with a vengeance he didn't know about.

But Jack wouldn't have him thinking such ridiculous thoughts, "They aren't predictions. You've just seen one too many bad things and they're starting to come back. Give it a week or two, maybe a month, and you'll feel right as rain."

"Do you promise?"

Two brown eyes looked up at him with such hope; such boyish hope that it was almost enough to make Jack weep. He hadn't understood just how much fatherhood would change him and, in some ways, turn him into a mother, but he was glad that they did. Everything seemed brighter with Jake. Everything made more sense and when he was fighting for someone else, loving someone that wasn't himself, it made the days' worth living.

"I promise," a gentle kiss was placed against the boy's forehead, "Now get some sleep. I'll be here all night."

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, son."


	12. When I Wake

Jake awoke that night covered in sweat, a glistening cloak of it on his forehead as he scrambled to sit up. Hands were flung in all directions, hitting Jack's eye but barely rousing the man, before finally he realised it was imaginary things he fought and the demons of his dreams hadn't followed him.

They had been horrid things, with fangs larger than all of the seven seas and eyes that could bore into the hardiest souls, their one purpose in life to conquer all that made it worth living. Taloned paws would rip out Jake's heart before they decided that he had been through enough, leaving him in a pool of his own blood to wonder just why it was him they chose. And those devilish wings…

"I'll never get rid of this nightmare," he whispered pathetically to himself, "It'll kill me…they'll kill me…"

It was always the same dream. That same battle scene always stretched before him and the dawn was always just breaking, as if to usher in a sense of hope that would never come to fruition, though he had grown to accept that the dawn could never bring them peace. Instead, it stood there as an ironic wave to the better past, in which Jake had been Sparrow Boy and his father had been Jack Sparrow, the man without restrictions. His son was a huge one. He was a restriction that the captain could never abandon, for his heart would cry blue murder until his boy was returned to him.

Leaving the darkened bedroom, Jake chose to wander the wooden hallways of his ship as the nightmare's adrenalin began to wear off. His racing heart slowed to a steady thrum whilst his fingers traced the walls, each crack and crevice known to him through hours of inspection, each falter and weakness like a huge scream to the child's sharp eyes. He loved the gentle dips that his digits easily slipped into, as though they were made by his father when he was Jake's age.

"Hm?" the captain shuffled in his sleep and his hand fumbled to the other side, hoping to clutch his boy's dreadlocked hair that always calmed him. Carefully his hands searched…and found nothing. Jake had left him. With practiced ease the captain jumped to his feet, the sheets around him like ghosts as he pelted from the room. Where had his son vanished to?

Jake stood at the edge of the ship, hands outstretched to stroke the white steam of sea air, eyes focused on the glittering stars that beckoned them to the horizon. There lay their next conquest – there, they would find the troves that hadn't been delved and the caverns that had yet to be plucked clean, where pirates before them had weighed anchor to inevitably die. Imagine the treasures! The riches that they would find, snuggled deeply in the mossy bottoms of dungeons that weren't yet discovered.

In his horizon broadening thoughts, the child didn't notice a new person arrive on the deck. Her hair was up in a tight ponytail and her lips mashed together as she stared at Jake, so lost in his own world that if she were to go up and place her hand on him, he would probably jump to the Heavens. What was he thinking about? Where did his thoughts take him? Was it a land where injustice and pain didn't exist, a land where all the people could be harmonious? Or was it a world in which Sparrow Boy had no problems and his lap was filled with gold? That was the dream her father had always thrust upon her; a man who had his arms laden with fine jewellery and could gift upon her strong children, her own life brushed aside so that she might raise them.

"Are you okay?" Selina's voice was soft when she finally reached his side. So soft was it that he didn't jump, only froze for a brief moment before he turned to look at her. Those eyes were twinkling with such pain…

"Why're you awake?" he asked.

"Because…the ship's hard to sleep on. Why're you awake?"

"Because the ship hasn't sent me to sleep," a huff of a laugh escaped his lips as he turned his head back, looking out at the darkness in front of him whilst balancing on his forearms. The banister barely creaked under his weight.

She felt the urge to comfort him, "Aren't you cold? Maybe you should go inside. We could go down to the hull and talk?"

"No point," he replied without looking at her, "The hull's stuffed with the things we haven't sold yet. Dad wanted to do that when we hit the next town."

"Doesn't that make you feel happy?" her face was confused and, bless her, she had a right to be so. There wasn't much that Jake didn't get excited for; even the prospect of learning under his father made the boy giddy, as if they had a good relationship and the things that had plagued Selina didn't apply to them.

"We don't have a good relationship with towns. They're always full of people that segregate us, or people that don't think we know how to be civilised. Dad's better at dealing with them than I am – I'm always too mouthy, always too sarcastic. We've had to make up rules when we're on land."

He had given away more than he intended, but he didn't see the problem. Soon enough they would be rid of Selina, leaving her on a different island or city so that her father could send letters and find her, his property, his flesh-and-blood turned goods. There was no love in his heart for the ways of the world, where women and girls were but faint annoyances, passed around from pillar to post in the hopes that someone would eventually settle with them, filling their bellies with prosperous young and another future breeder.

"Doesn't that make you sad?"

"A minute ago I was supposed to be happy."

"But you can't go out on land. That's upsetting, isn't it?"

"Why would it be? My life is here. My life's the Pearl and my dad and the crew. This's where I belong." He turned to gesture to the ship behind them, all its glory shrouded in the daily darkness and the subtleness just bringing out what it meant to be a pirate.

A life in the shadow, where the sun only shone when the time was right, and they could never hope to see the harsh light that came with it.

"There's no getting married on a ship," she pointed out softly.

"I don't need marriage. I've got my dad," a mischievous glint went off in the brown eyes before her, as though they were thinking about the lands they would dominate as a duo. What they didn't see was the captain watching their little exchange, his hiding spot way up on the mast where one foot was hanging as limply as a china doll, the other firmly on the wood beneath him whilst one hand gripped the wide pole beside him. He watched the children below him, burying his face further into his knees as he resigned himself to a truth.

Jake was contented, but not for long. Soon enough his boyish charm would take over and he'd begin noticing the girls that threw themselves at him, begin considering the marriage proposals as they came. Jack had to watch as that day approached them, no matter what he tried to do; he'd no power to stop youth.

"I'll be here for you," he whispered to himself, a promise to his son that he had made countless times before, "I'll be here to stop the nights."


	13. The Land Brings New Heights

The next morning brought with it restlessness as another island came into view, way off in the distance where it blurred slightly and almost faded into the hot pink horizon. Jake watched the crew rousing from their slumbers and walking to each of their separate stations when they were issued to them, wishing for a moment that he could know the sweet kiss of morning's light, his thoughts on how the darkness of the moon had pooled in the back of his mind and forced him to think gloomy things.

"Mornin' Jake!" Gibbs welcomed when he had finally stepped on deck, beard neatly groomed whilst wiry grey hair sprung freely from his head, "Sleep well?" he was met by a forced little grin and a sort of tired wave, one that told him the night had brought no rest to his captain's son.

"It's getting harder to sleep at night! I think something's coming!" he called in reply, "Must be another pirate raid!"

They had often mused to one another how the child seemed to predict the future; when there was no sleep in his eyes, no love in his heart for what came next, there was almost certainly something evil on the rise for them, somewhere on those seven seas that bubbled with lost souls.

Without the will to speak about what plagued him, Jake decided it was high time that he had a check on where they were going. How many people populated it? How many treasures were hidden in their chambers? Were there politicians who sat on self-made thrones that ruled them?

"You're looking?" asked his father as the boy leant over the banister, eyes sharp to the subtle changes that came with moving so quickly, observant of how the people milled about on the dock and went about their boring lives. Some wore beautiful gowns made of seamless sequins – a relatively new creation that seemed all too flashy for Jake, but he digressed – yet others were contented with peasant clothes, as though they added something to their already diminished character. He'd forgotten how much he'd despised the hierarchy of land. At least on the ship he was on an even-keel with people, with no notion that younger meant immature or that smaller meant weak; it was liberating to work with his men and hoist the sails during storms, knowing in his heart that they would protect him should the worst come to the worst.

And if they didn't, Jack would. The land held nothing for him but pain, social class and strife. He would never return there.

"Only having a quick scope," he answered, inspecting the island through narrowed eyes, "It's looking pretty easy. No guards on deck, but there's probably some behind that old whore and bathhouse…maybe there's some in the Blacksmiths."

A strong hand pressed against his back as his father shot him that comforting smile, "We'll have no problem with them, Jakey. It'll be a quick sell-and-buy mission."

"We've had those 'quick' missions before, remember? I think I spent a week in the last cell."

"Well if you hadn't told the guard to go suck a lemon, you wouldn't have been thrown in the dungeon."

"He should've sucked a lemon," the child's sour face was enough to make any person laugh, no matter the age or the class they hailed from. A sulky pout that could destroy mountains, a soft glare that locked impishly on Jack's face and, with innocence that came from one so young and naïve, forced a smile from the captain's lips; it made his face seem almost childish. That was enough to make Jack wonder how long his boy would remain a child, or if he would grow up the next day and leave his father haplessly struggling for attention, for his love.

Soon enough the sky had turned that pale blue that signified the day had begun, and that made Jake ease. Though he hadn't love for the daytime with such exhaustion on his head, there wasn't anything better than knowing he and his father would soon take arms and intrude on the peaceful dock beneath them, selling things of questionable repute but that no one would comment on because they, being higher class, didn't need to ask questions. They just wanted what they saw.

Too bad looks were deceiving.

Jack hated the dullness of his son's eyes. At one time they had glittered with such intensity that they could've rivalled the sun, putting it out with just one glare and plunging the rest of the world into darkness. Now? Now they were cold as the Northern ice, where white animals hid in the peaceful snow and the blankets were anything but comforting, instead cold to the touch and deadly to lay in.

"It's time you and I got things together," he mentioned airily once he had wandered back over to the boy, who had been staring at the island as if his life depended on it, "What're we planning to sell today? Who are we selling them to? What's the golden rule, Jakey?"

He was rewarded by a small smile, a flash of recognition that lit up his eyes and fizzled away slowly, "Anything, to anyone and to keep our heads down."

"What else?"

"To keep my mouth shut when there's guards are about."

"That's my boy."

With one ringed hand the captain affectionately nuzzled his son's face, the softness of that mock-punch rivalled only by the twinkling love in his eyes. Nothing could come between them until he had grown and left, and even then he didn't believe that their relationship would dissipate. After all, Jake was a Sparrow Boy.

And all Sparrow Boys' had water in their hearts.

Selina watched the island coming up with dread. She knew that those pirates she sailed with would try to abandon her there, where she'd neither the status nor the voice to command them back or find help by herself. Instantly she was thinking that she would have to make money as a common whore; the thought sent shivers down her spine, though by the look of Sparrow Boy he'd gone through far worse. Perhaps she could grow a hardened skin like he had? Maybe toil and pain would bring her to some sort of enlightenment, or teach her the real value of the breaths she took? It was always worth a try.

"Land!" Jack screamed, pulling her from her thoughts like an abrupt seagull squawk, "Bring up the sails! Pull down the flag! Keep the Pearl safe, savvy?! We make for riches!"


	14. Selina and Jake

Islands were a pain to sell on. It wasn't that they didn't get enough business – indeed, Jake and Jack found more than enough people to buy their trinkets, each value exaggerated and made even more profitable by the boy's quick auctioning idea – it was just that the people there were laughably frail, what with their dainty little hands, painted skin stretched over white bones that Jake could almost see.

The women were what he would affectionately refer to as witches. They glanced him over a few times when he ran back and forth, quite possibly to natter on about his clothing, though he paid them little heed as he clutched great crates of self-painted gold jewellery and hauled it back to his father.

"Last box," he whispered after what felt like an age, the sun slowly sinking behind the blue-lipped sea as the seagulls squawked their children home, "Are we leaving her here?" it was Selina they were talking about, who sat some ways away from them atop a disused barrel and was busying herself with talking to a local boy.

Yet another one those half-wits that she would care nothing for; he talked in depth about some sort of vagabond that he had chased down the streets and retrieved something stolen from, most definitely a lie but one that she sat through with a nodding head, a happy smile, all because she had been conditioned to do so. How she longed for Jake to arise with some note of jealousy, swatting the dirty blonde boy away with his calloused hands before declaring that he loved her, the fair Selina.

But...she didn't want that. She didn't want Sparrow Boy as her own, not when he had proven so thoughtless of her situation.

"And then this guy just turns round and starts trying to hit me, like…like…" the boy's ugly tattered clothes almost shook with the intensity of his shout, which was meant to replicate something akin to a cannonball and a lion wrestling. With a slender arm she propped her head up, continuing to listen to him though her interests were quickly fading.

Jake swooped past the fat man's arm to deliver the final lot of goods, which went to a lovely blonde woman with curled ringlets and a dazzling smile. She awarded him it when he passed it to her, granted his blush was more a formality. Why would he care for one so beautiful? When beauty meant nothing in the long run, time's harsh jaws enough to melt the flesh away yet not strong enough to blast personality?

His poetic outlook on life was matched only by his negativity.

"And that includes the fabulous sales of wandering pirates!" Jack announced with a flourish of the arm, his boots clicking against the rickety stage he stood on whilst Jake delivered the last batch, "We hope you've enjoyed spending your gold just as much as we've enjoyed taking it!"

It earned him some laughs and, from some of the more miserly men, a few 'haw-haws,' but all Jack cared about was packing up the things that proved unpopular and boarding it up again, his son close behind him in the hopes that he could find some peace that night. What with the way the wind was picking up and bringing a new batch of clouds towards them, he knew that a storm would soon raise its head.

Charcoal black swirled above the Pearl as Jake began making plans, preparing to sail off and allowing his father to work out some deal for Selina. They weren't cruel – they wouldn't just leave her with no ward or guidance, no one unpaid to take her hand and trust that they would do the job well, but they also weren't foolish. The Pearl needed only the best.

And the only child that fit that criteria had been born a Sparrow.

"I hope you're not paying him to take care of me?" she had spotted Jack out of the corner of her eye talking to a thuggish brute, one with scarred tattoos that ran down his arms and the look of a viper in his eyes, a harsh glare that would make Mars quake in his boots and run to the supple arms of his Venus.

"What? Oh, no, not him," the captain replied airily, "We're just having a chat about the recent pirate raids on the Southern waters. You'll be with the good ole fellas at the tavern."

"And you think I'll go so easily?! You think you can treat me like my mother and palm me off to the nearest quarter, hoping that I won't find out until you've sailed far away?!" her rage betrayed the intense anxiety she felt. The place was strange to her, with long cobbled roads and their meagre horse-drawn carts, the buildings so small that they barely blotted the sun out whilst children – girls her age, no less – were permitted to play together freely, in the clearing where they had fashioned a makeshift goal and stitched a ball out of rags.

Jake heard the commotion, but he daren't go look. Looking might have invoked the feelings of abandonment that had once plagued him, perhaps brought the memory of his father's almost-leaving again. There was no love in his heart for doing the same thing to someone but, when they thought deeply on it, there was only one logical conclusion they could come to.

Selina wasn't a pirate. She was a fresh faced young guppy who had the idea in her head that piracy always included adventures, that strong men would arrive one day to save her should she be in trouble and, just like that, she would meet her captain in a polished hat, buttons shining like the porcelain of his teeth.

Sparrow Boy? Sparrow Boy knew better; he knew that mistakes could mean his life and the adventures came sparingly, though they dragged on whenever they found themselves in one. Often they weren't planned and instead they had to adapt to it, which came at an incredible inconvenience due to their constant robberies.

"Selina-"

"Don't you speak to me in that tone! That's my father's tone! You're not my father – you're just…just…!"

"He's my father," the boy was suddenly at the banister, leaning over it with fierce eyes as he glared at the girl before him. Again there was a brief thought on her beauty, but it didn't resonate with him when his tongue worked to defend Jack, "And he's trying to save your princess-appropriated back, so don't yell at him! I've got a solution!"


	15. Love in My Heart

Subjugation was never in Jake's plans. He had never anticipated that the fair faced Selina would have her an acid tongue, one that could debate even their finest politicians into the ground and make them quiver in defeat, but the surprise had been quite infuriating. Instantly any argument he had was nullified and she, with her smile bright as she took her place back on board, just shot him that look that said things which would never pass her lips.

Those cherry red, articulate lips…

"She's a feisty one!" one of the crewmates laughed with a warm slap to his back, a well-placed thump that almost sent him tumbling over the banister's edge and into the water below, "Don't cross blades with her anytime soon, Jake! Your body'll be nothing but holes!"

Laughter seemed to always bring humiliation for the child, who for so long had been laughed at and ridiculed for his heritage. When the whoreson mark still fell upon him and he could do nothing to run away, Sparrow Boy had forced himself to build a guard that only his father had the capability to break, yet it seemed that he needed stronger walls. Selina would bring about another bad memory for him, he knew it.

The storm came without too much trouble. Their sails were knocked down and a few of their men scattered – some thrown overboard, others throwing themselves – whereas Jake took solace in his father's arms, the only place that he'd felt safe in since he and Hank were friends.

Hank had been studious in his loyalty to Barbosa, even taking it upon himself to learn the man's subtle personality and, without too much success, replicate it. Days would rake by in which he would praise his captain constantly, whether the praise was well earned or not, the only hope in his heart that they would soon be on Jake's heels again and he could finally know the sweet taste of vengeance. His mother's grave would never be as cold as the plans he had for Sparrow Boy.

But the child had escaped him on numerous occasions, the earliest one being when they had scuffled on an old scaffold and Jake, with fingers as nimble as his father's, had jumped through the unfinished window to disappear through the buildings. Oh Hank had given chase of course, yet no legs would catch his former friend. They were like a cheetah's once they had the will to run, gifted with muscles that seemed almost uncouth and the speed of a thousand different Olympians.

And what did they do? Sit on their mountain where their powers would never be used, watching over the pitiful world as though they were involved; as though they, being Gods and not people, had some right to watch all the suffering and do nothing about it.

Hank sauntered across the deck for what felt like the hundredth time that day, his arms laden with fresh kill as he dared a glance at their hostages. Some beautiful women they were, yet Barbosa had called them villains when they were boarded. Perhaps they were temptresses? The child had heard tales of girls with the beauty of Venus and the will of Mars, so fierce in their nature that they could have been akin to Harmony or Cupid, though to what extent he'd never known. It was only through sheer will that he didn't approach the youngest one, her face as splendid as an archer's bow and her white gown like a disused wedding dress.

"That me kill?" his honourable captain asked, standing with that look of fire on his face. Thick bushed eyebrows were almost as wild as the embers that stretched beneath them, untrimmed and untouched throughout their time together, but his beard had been neatly groomed. That always made Hank smile, because it always meant the same thing.

They were starting another raid.

"What I could muster from the men," came his explanation as he gingerly placed the crate down, all too aware of Barbosa's flaming eyes on him, "They're starting to complain about the rations, captain. I don't think we're going to avoid another mutiny if we keep it like this."

Hands of comfort fell upon his head, "These men're too lily-livered ta mutiny against us, me boy. There's somethin' about them that says…well…" the hand fell from his face to grip one of the shiny apples that sat there, peaking Barbosa's interests until he saw the other side had rotted, "They'll not be trouble."

"All due respect sir, but I think we've got to start handing out more food. Or…we should start trying to get more food. With these hostages-"

"There ain't a falter in yer loyalty, is there lad?"

"No sir!" his indignant voice showed his shock as his loyalty had never wavered, always standing so solidly against what had happened and keeping him stuck by Barbosa's side. How could the Captain accuse him of such things? How could the Captain look at him and think, even for a moment, that he'd go against his wishes?

"Then yer'll be speaking no more 'bout rations and mutiny. Words that'll kill ya, me boy."

For a moment, Hank thought about arguing. How he longed to face up to the man that made all the wrong decisions and tell him that he'd had enough, that he was taking charge of things and the men were getting more food. Fantasises were made up at night of what the boy would do were he in control, his hands at the helm and his name that people feared; they always ended in Sparrow Boy's lifeless body bleeding in his hands, but such was the way of obsession.

And so, in the smallest voice that had ever fallen from a thief, he managed to choke out, "Yes, sir," before vanishing off under deck, where the people were waiting expectantly for news that he'd failed. They hoped that they were wrong every time, but they never were. Barbosa just wasn't loyal enough to feed them.

But there, on the horizon where the seagulls squawked, blackened by thick clouds that would soon drawl upon Barbosa's ship and send the men into a frenzy, was another boat, and perhaps all was not lost for the boy and his dreams.

Of course, the Pearl would always be in sights.


	16. Land Loved

Clouds chased themselves overhead when Sparrow Boy came out, his movements nervous as he clung weakly to his father's coat. One curious eye peaked out from behind the fabric to gaze innocently about the place, noting that the mast had fallen and they would soon require a new one, hoping beyond everything that Selina hadn't followed them to watch how he behaved.

"There, there," Jack hushed him with the tenderness of a mothering hen, "It's alright now, Jakey. No more storm."

Two brown eyes met his in a fusion of both trust and love, though there was an underlying current of fear that kept him desperately clinging to the brown leather coat. Small hands twisted to get a better grip, breathing hitched ever so slightly as they heard a distant roar and watched the further skies flash. Jack could understand his fear.

But, at the same time, he almost wished he would grow out of it.

"What's the damage?" he asked Gibbs, who had roused himself from slumber when the wind no longer thundered against his porthole. Storms were always so lulling to him; it was a wonder that Jake fled whenever he heard one on the way, off to his father's bedside to curl up with the man who kept him so secure. Nothing would make Gibbs understand the boy and his strange habits, though he'd come a long way from when they first met.

"Broken mast," his finger stretched to the charred remains, "And a few winda's, but that's 'bout it. We'll be ridin' fit 'til we hit the next isle, then we should get a new load of glass and wood."

"We won't be able to fix this ourselves," Sparrow Boy interjected once he had gained some of his nerves, as though the storm had ridden off with them as well as their un-weighted supplies, "It'll take months if we try, and we'll probably end up breaking it more. I think we'd do better if we go straight to the next isle and set up shop for a few weeks."

Oh how Jack loved his son, but the length of his naivety frustrated him to no end. Sure, they could hole up in a nice little village, somewhere secluded from guards and away from those quietly corrupt politicians that would live to see them in prison, yet that place didn't exist. The world had changed and bent to become a regular cesspit of corporate officials and people that would rather kill them than talk to them. What happened on the seas was nothing compared to what happened on land, where dry men walked with wet hands and the wet men's mouths ran dry.

So he said with that exceeding gentleness, "Jakey, I don't think that's a good idea. You know what people would do once they realise we're pirates – you know what people are like."

"But we can't fix the boat with just our men. They don't have the skills and we don't have the materials."

"The Pearl will fare fine until we get the supplies we need. In the meanwhile, we've just got to make sure we don't agitate her anymore."

No further argument would be had. If Jake even had a shred of understanding for his father's words, it was rivalled ten-fold by the sheer frustration that came with being denied. The Pearl was in tatters around them and all Jack could see was their potential arrest, which had happened enough times for his son to grow used to it. He'd even grow to like the cells they found themselves in, various and far-spaced as they were.

Jack turned with that flourish of his hand, walking to the raised deck of their ship in which he stood to command the men. They needed a lot of hands to sweep and eradicate what the storm had left behind, a lot of people willing to clean up after one mistress but if royalty had taught them anything – anything useful, he meant – it was that anyone would fall for a pretty face. And who had a prettier face than Jack?

"We'll end up having her sunk!" just because there wasn't an argument didn't mean Jake wouldn't make one, "There's nothing supporting the sails! If we need to get away from the enemy, we'd have to blow into napkins!" he followed his father with his hands beside his face, fingers bent as if he had claws whilst annoyance flickered through his eyes, "Can't you see that I'm trying to keep us safe?!"

"There's no need to settle down, Jake." His father's voice was as adamant as his hands when he gripped the wheel, wood biting into his fingers and his eyes locked onto the blackened horizon in front of them, where not a few hours ago Jake had been anxious to begin riding.

"Who said about settling down? I'm saying use the town – keep the people at arm's length and take their timber! All we need is to fix this damn mast," long fingers pointed to it to emphasise his point, yet Jack still couldn't see it. All he could see was that his son, his innocent little boy that had so nobly adapted to pirate life and everything that came with it, wanted to be off the sea.

Of course, that wasn't what Jake wanted. He wanted to have an adventurous life that rode with the waves, never again to be hampered by the dry world that had condemned him to be a whoreson. But the mast needed fixing and, because he was sensible, because he loved his father, he knew that they would have to find their way on land for a few weeks until it had been strung back together. No one had ever told him pirate life would be easy. And that's precisely why he loved it.

"We're not going to land, Jake," Jack's eyes bored down on him from where he stood, on the lower deck between the men that had gathered, "If you want to become a land-lubber, do it on your own time."

A stunned silence fell on Jake. He stared, unsure if his ears were playing tricks on him or if Jack really had suggested that he wanted to leave, knowing that his fair cheeks had become tinged with an infuriated red and his hands were trembling at his sides.

"Well," he choked through his anger, "At least I know where I stand now." And with that he was gone, his nimble frame seen barely as he slid through the door and abandoned them for the lower levels. Tears stung his ears and his red bandana threatened to fly from his head as he, with a heart full of hurt that could have killed him, heard his father's words over and over again.

_If you want to become a land-lubber, do it on your own time._


	17. Exit Immaturity

"Jakey?"

Silence met Jack's words. It was the type of silence that men sat in when they were in a stupor; the type that would eventually claim their lives. The maddening emptiness of the room surrounded him as the captain dared step inside, noting how the bed had been upturned and the beloved books were scattered around the place, a few pages torn out as though they had some offensive picture on them. There was no sign of his son.

That worried him more than anything.

"Jakey?" he tried again, bravery in his voice, "You've got to come out. I need a hand on deck." Again there was a distinct lack of response, which made Jack tremble when he imagined his son tucked in some forgotten corner as he used the shadows to hide himself, intent not to let his own father see him as it would surely mean his scolding.

Finding a table with his foot caused a string of profanity to escape from the Captain's lips, and that made a faint giggle sound in the distance. He looked, eyes peeled so that he would see the subtle disturbances his son's silhouette would cause, fingers bent over his gun just in case an enemy had clambered in and taken the guise of Jake's voice.

"If you don't come out now, I'll just have to go and tell Selina about the incident with the crab…"

A few more seconds passed. A few more seconds of intense hurt flitted through Sparrow Boy's mind before he decided that he really didn't want her to know about that, hauling himself from the crack in the floorboards he had secreted himself in to look at his father's face. It was barely sculpted by the moonlight but still, with so much flooding in from his little porthole and bathing the floor in a silvery stream, it was enough to reveal a few of those handsome details, the features that he had both blessed and cursed his son with. Maidens would fall to the appeal of his face, only to fall harder when they heard his honey-coated words and expertly rehearsed lines.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly. The ice in his voice would be enough to freeze lesser men, who would most likely draw their swords when they realised who he belonged to. 'Pearl pirates' as they were called weren't particularly welcome in most stretches of the region, though Jake wore the badge with pride and told all he met that he was First Mate of that infamous ship, not caring whether they praised or repelled him for his heritage. Jack was a Sparrow. Jake was a Sparrow.

And he certainly wasn't a land-lubber.

"You're needed on the deck," his voice was infuriatingly business-like as he spoke to his boy, like nothing had happened between them and they were just going through the daily grind, "We're having trouble catching wind and you're going to help the men."

"Struggling without the mast? Shame we passed that island a little while ago; that could've helped us for supplies, man-power, etc."

Jack's eyes went from passive to enraged, "I've told you that we're not risking another dock, not so soon after the last one. We're Sparrows; we belong on water, and that's where we'll stay until I've ordered otherwise."

"We'll sink!"

The child was up on his feet before his father could response. Instantly he had closed the distance between them, his breath so fierce and loud that it could be heard over the battering of the waves and the squawk of the late-night gulls. Jack looked up to focus on anything else – the porthole caught his eye for the soft image of a ship on the horizon, its thick frame blending neatly with the slowly darkening sky as the boy in front of him seethed with anger.

"It's not your decision to get us all killed!" Jake's voice was thick with authority when he spoke, as though there was something to his words that he was keeping hidden, "It's your decision to keep us safe! I'm supposed to trust that you'll look after me but you're sending us to die! Look around you; does this ship look sturdy?!" a quick survey of the scene didn't reveal much except that Jake might have had a slight anger issue, or perhaps a vendetta against neatly arranged bedrooms, "I won't sit back and watch you sink the Pearl! If you're intent on doing this – and Jesus, you're so hard-headed that it's impossible you're not – then I won't follow you. I'll take the nearest side boat and leave."

And so the ultimatum was issued. The sting of his words hung loosely in the air as Jack looked down at his boy, those brown eyes filled with courage that wouldn't inflict a normal boy. His hands trembled at his sides whilst his heart thrummed against his ribcage because, despite everything that tumbled from his mouth, Jake still loved his father, and still hoped that he would make the right decision to get their mast fixed. Who knew what dangers would lurk at sea?

They did. They knew the pirates, the sickness, the swarms. They knew death and the pet he rode on, thick tentacles enough to crush a ship let alone the men on board, who would all just stand with that calm remembrance of what they dreamed of as children.

"If you're going to act like such a child-"

"You're not-"

"_If _you're going to act like such a child," he repeated himself so harshly that it was like a punch to the face, instantly earning him the boy's silence, "Then you've not got a place on this ship. I don't deal in children, Jake; I need men who know what they're doing. I need men who know how to handle themselves in a fight and follow their orders to the letter. Are you a man, Jake?"

More silence. More silence and questions that were never uttered, hurts that were just beginning to fade become all too fresh as Jake looked up at the man he had cowered behind. It was Jack – Jack who had sworn to defend him through everything, and he was telling him that his immaturity was a burden.

But before he could respond, the captain was gone. He vanished out of the room without even waiting for his child's answer, as though he had more important things to do than wait around for something so trivial and had no interest in knowing his thoughts. In that moment Jack lost his pedestal; Jake's eyes became as hardened as his heart whilst he gripped some forgotten rope from the floorboards, the challenge clear in his body when he gazed out of the porthole.

"You want it that way, Jack?" he asked in a hushed tone, "Fine. Nice knowing you, you stupid fool."


	18. Sound the Alarums

Selina approached Jake's bedroom door as timidly as she would a cannonball, her mind reeling as she imagined what could lay beyond it. In her books a man's chambers were always filled with rare and unexpected trinkets, such as jewels from the coasts of an exotic country or even shrunken heads that native women had applauded his beauty with, the aesthetic appeal of his face enough to floor people if they looked too long.

But Jake had told her not to get lost in her fantasises. When they sat together on the boat and watched the water slide past them, an effortless sheen of blue that would engulf even the bravest of souls, he had told her that she would die if she put paper to action, that he had seen many scholars think something completely different to how life actually went. The way he spoke had hit a strange nerve; it was with authority that he commanded his voice, as though nothing mattered so long as his words were heard and his opinion was out there. She respected him for that.

Of course, Jake already knew that.

"Jake?" she asked when she finally reached the door, her knock on its hard surface soft and her voice softer, "Jake? Can I speak to you? I haven't seen you most of the day…" there was no response for a long while and, when it finally came, it wasn't in the form of words.

A creaking roused her courage enough to turn his handle, and when the entrance swung open to reveal a chaotic room she was more or less unsurprised. Tales had been told of pirates – they were hardly renowned for their cleanliness, which some said rivalled the very depths of Hell and could turn an angel to murder should God banish them to the stench. The only notable thing about that ten year olds' room was that the porthole had been opened and the sea breeze was floating in, rotting wood that kept sturdy after all those years whilst his sheets drifted aimlessly about the place. She looked, searching for that boy that she had gone there for, but he was nowhere to be found.

"This isn't funny, Jake." Her voice was inflicted by fear when she spoke – if Jake had been present or by some sorcery had heard her, his heart would have broken at how innocent she sounded, "Come out. I don't like hide-and-seek." Different ends of their childhood came to play again, in which the game that she remembered so fondly had actually been a centrepiece of Jake's survival, when he would hide away from the sharp-tongued words and jeers of his customers.

Further out to the horizon where day was beginning to break, Jake allowed his lifeboat to float away from the Pearl. He watched as the ship he knew became just a faint dot in the distance, his father and friends all aboard and unknowing to his absence, which he was sure would cause Jack some grief until he thought better of it. Seagulls screeched in their pointless circles overhead whilst the vessel took him further, carrying him in its half-rotten hull as though he were a particularly unwanted baby.

"You'll see!" he whispered pathetically to himself like someone was listening, "I'll show you, Dad! I'm not a land-lubber! I'm old enough to have myself heard!" the insult still struck deep in the twisted arteries and strung-together veins of the boy, his heart gripped by a cold vice-like hand until all the blood had filtered out of it. He couldn't believe his own father would say something like that. He couldn't believe that Jack, who had so often told him that he was destined for life on the water, had claimed that he would rather die a land-based death.

By the time Selina had deduced Jake wasn't there, the girl had grown fearful. She recalled her imprisonment by her father and thought on how often she looked at the window, her mind working on how to gently open it so she could slip out into the darkness. It seemed that she and Jake were no different.

"Gibbs," the working sailor had been enjoying an expertly stolen bottle of wine on deck when she approached him, his shaggy beard inflicted with the stuff that stank of Hellfire, "Where's Jake?"

"Jake? Lad's probably sleeping, miss. Tis a calm night for it."

"I checked. He's not in his room."

"Jack'll know where he's trodden off to. Ask him; 'e's up at the wheel, but be careful how ya speak. 'Is temper's fierce tonight."

And she took his advice with a weight in her stomach, because something was going on that she didn't like. Jake had been so integral in the ship's mechanisms that to simply vanish without a trace was unheard of, even though his father had done it many times before. The child wouldn't think of such an atrocity; the only thing that came to Selina's head was that he had been kidnapped or, worse, someone had robbed the Pearl of its only source of light, taking Sparrow Boy's body as a prize to mount on some wall.

"What're you doing here, missy?" Jack slurred when she had reached the top deck. In his hand sat a bottle of rum that he had been saving, though for what occasion he couldn't quite remember, and the other hand was latched lazily on one of the wooden handles of his steering wheel, his turning of it undetermined as the alcohol took effect. Selina had to stop a snort from escaping – how could that man be the famed Captain Jack? How could that drunkard been a source of pride for his son, who had so often praised him as though he were made of gold?

"I'm looking for Jake," her dress was lifted by the wind as she spoke, a phantom of fabric that ghosted against Jack's legs, "He's not in his room." Instantly she noticed his shoulders tense and the bottle slip momentarily through his fingers, his reclaiming of it as ungraceful as his staggering from the wheel.

"Then he's in a different room."

"Where?"

"…I don't know…" a lost look had replaced the drunkenness of Jack's eyes. It was as though someone had come with a magic cloth to sober him up, the mention of his son enough to pull even the tightest stupors loose, "Sound the alarm. Get the men on deck. I want him found."

Selina looked at him with a horrified expression. Those porcelain features became inflicted with fear whilst she stared at that man – that captain, as he had claimed to be – suddenly falling apart in front of her, a collected chaos that took on the guise of orders, "Is that really necessary?"

And when he fixed her with his hardened gaze, there was no hint of his previous insobriety, "It's Jake. It's always necessary."


	19. The Flags we Trust

Looking back, Sparrow Boy had done a lot of stupid things in his time. There were numerous assaults, thefts and general mayhem that hung over his head, all of which had been his proud honour as a pirate to do, but they had all managed to get him in trouble in some way. Sometimes, it meant a night in the cells. Other times, it meant that the brave Jack Sparrow would make an appearance and save his son from the gallows, usually just seconds before they pulled that accursed lever that would send the boy to God.

But as he glowered up at the bayonet aimed for his head, forced to look into the dead eyes of a man weighted by uniform and legislation, he knew that running away had definitely topped all those other things. He was thrust on his knees with hands tied behind his back whilst his boat, rotting carcass that it was, was kicked away from the grand vessel he had been taken hostage on, probably by the boot of that man that drawled on about his warrants. With a slight prayer back to his father, Jake wondered how it was always he who found himself in such messes.

"You're the notorious little troublemaker that robbed France's dock," the white wigged official was saying as he polished shiny brass buttons; unnecessary in the grand scheme of things but they did complement his burgundy outfit, "I should take you straight to the military. They'd have your head if they knew who you were."

Jake huffed out a laugh, "You don't think they've already tried? You can take what you want, mate – try to get information on the Pearl and I won't give it. You'd have to beat every drop of water out of me before that happened."

"What makes you think I won't?" the eyes were cold when they looked down upon the boy in front of him. Above screeched one of those nefarious gulls that had been a blight on that ship, coated generously with their gifts that had splattered all over the upper decks, and it caused some of the men to look up, their aimless circles suddenly with purpose as they eyed the cluster below them. Jake could only smile when he imagined what those gulls had done to them.

It was a smile that continued through his next words.

"You can't beat the water out of me," his voice was low, calm, "I'm a Sparrow. We're born with it in our hearts. If you want to kill me, go ahead; I'm not afraid of death. But, oh, wait; then you wouldn't get your precious information, would you?" anger poured all over the ship as the man stepped back, his fingers squeezing tightly over Sparrow Boy's cheeks when he finally caught hold of them and his eyes burning holes in his head, "I'm not caving. You can do all you want – Jack's got my respect, and his crew as well. You'll have to kill me before I talk."

There was no argument to be made. Sparrow Boy had chosen what little options he had left in his control. Three days he had spent at sea and his supplies had been used up; the water was gone, the food had been eaten and the few medical tools he hid in his room had proved useless, granted he wasn't surprised about that. They were only taken with him because he enjoyed fiddling with things when he was deep in thought.

If he had really been deep in thought, he would have turned and gone back to the Pearl. There was nothing out on his own, bar struggles and hardship and the inevitable loss of his life. All would destroy him. Nothing would save him. And there he knelt, two gloved hands on his shoulders and handcuffs biting into his wrists, eyes locked on a man that had more wig on his head than brains inside it. How had it happened? How had he been so easily captured?

"You'll be coming with us to the mainland," voice deep with menace and intent, the powdered wig man stood up a little straighter to fix his men with hard glares, "I want this boy put in our safest cell."

A quivering whelp of a man replied to him, hidden in the throngs of his friends so his face wasn't revealed, "We don't have cells anymore, sir. You decorated them as tearooms."

It was true – the once-fearsome prisons that had held many a pirate were decorated with doyleys, placed upon a few bedside tables scattered here and there to make the lower decks more comfortable. That man had often put his napkin where criminals had lain their teeth, though that gruesome thought didn't enter his mind as he looked at the beautiful antique china and priceless rows of Faberge eggs. How could such brutes have knocked each other senseless in his wonderful tearoom? It didn't bear thinking about, and so he didn't.

Yet as he stood there with his guards looking at him and that little devil giggling at his feet, it was all he could do not to shoot the man that had revealed his passing fancy. How dare he talk about his tearoom?!

"Then…what's the nastiest place on the ship?" he asked in a voice strained by anger.

"That'd be the men's barracks, sir."

"I want him in there. You can put him in the corner or something; I don't care so long as he's not able to get away."

"We'll use chef's gruel to make chains, sir," it was more or less a joke on the man's part, but he had to supress a sigh when he received an over-enthusiastic 'that'd be wonderful,' in response. It was all he could do not to taunt his commander for the distinct lack of common sense, yet he wanted to keep his job, and that meant that he would have to deal with the hand fate had given him.

Fate really hated soldiers, it seemed.

"Sorry kid," his moustache tickled against Jake's ear as he was hauled up, a blindfold tied around his eyes so he could no longer see the faces before him, "We'd have let you go if it were up to us, but…well…"

"Pirate," the boy replied, "And that's not about to change."

And as he was led away into the cold depths of the ship, all he could hear were the gulls screeching for freedom.


	20. Cloth Doubt

The soldiers chose to stuff their captive in the most convenient space available to them, which happened to be an old broom closet that had been recently vacated. Where there were once mops and sweepers stood rusted remembrances of the olden days, medals that heroes had worn and subsequently died behind, the bronze trophies left in the aged cobwebs and white spiders that made their home there. For the one breathing thing in that cupboard – the one being that still had thought and life in him – the air was stale, so much so that he struggled to suck down what little came to him.

Dust drifted on the non-existent breeze and assaulted his eyes, stinging them with tears that hadn't yet fallen. That was how he would die. He wouldn't remember the wide open plains of the sea or the forests that had bordered his village, fringed by meadows that once reared cattle for the winter months, but instead he would meet his end in the claustrophobic broom cupboard that was chosen for convenience rather than security. How very…unexpected.

"We ride until we find him," Jack barked at his crewmate for what seemed like the hundredth time, "I'm not letting him sail by himself. What if he gets hurt? What if he runs into Barbosa?" the memory of that villainous pirate only sent his heart racing further, beating at so many miles a minute that it could have torn out of his chest and taken wing like the seagulls. Even those feathered pests seemed to be mourning for Jake as they circled above the ship, their cries so loud that they would have woken the sleepiest of Poseidon's.

"Lad's still missin', Jack," as always, Gibbs chose to be the voice of reason, though his words were tactless and his approach wary, "It's been days since 'e was seen. Thinking it's time ta call the search off; 'e'll be back when the time's right."

Another squawk sounded above them. It was so shrill that the flock veered away from it for a moment, caught by surprise or just trying to nurse wounded eardrums, before they formed another V-shaped triangle and began to chase the sunset. Pink stretched over the sky as Jack looked at his crewmate, like it was his fault that Sparrow Boy had taken flight and was on some unknown expanse of sea.

"He would've already come back if he was just 'missing,'" he insisted once more, always once more, "He's a Sparrow – we don't just…just _vanish _without a trace."

"Didn't you do that?" it was Selina who spoke. She had watched the collected captain since his son had gone missing, and was quite intrigued at the rate he had come undone. Dreadlocks that had once sat neatly on his head were an untameable mess, matted by sleeplessness as his eyes lost their witchy glint and became as dull as dishwater, which was something Selina had never seen herself and never planned to. They had working girls to touch the greasy slime that dishes left behind, after all.

Well, her father had…

Jack took a deep breath before he replied through clenched teeth, "Jake's not like me. He's smart. He's quick. He wouldn't endanger himself like this unless he'd good reason to, and even then he'd find a way out of it. No. He's in trouble."

White knuckles turned whiter as he gripped his wheel with every ounce of strength left in him. It had faded over the time he realised that his precious legacy had absconded but some still remained, still reminded him that there was such a thing as redemption and he was still the formidable pirate he was in his youth. Jake would be returned. It was only a matter of finding the frightened little boy and telling him that all was well, no one was angry with him.

"He's harmless," the voices floated from the thickened wood of the broom closet, as faceless as they would have been in a gallows' crowd, "Not even said a word, and it's pretty dark in there. When's feeding time?"

"Don't know. Captain's in his tearoom – you know what he's like about that place."

"Shame. It's been a few hours since we caught the little guy."

"And it'll be a few weeks before we get to the mainland, so let's not start calling him 'little guy.' We might get too attached."

"You think it's right, Bill? To send this kid to England?"

"I'm not concerned with what's right. I'm following orders."

"But-"

"The kid's a pirate. Pirates' are wanted criminals and if we don't bring them in, we're wanted criminals. It hurts for now," the soft scratching of a hand running down the door made Jake look up, though the darkness stopped him from actually seeing anything, "But it'd hurt a lot more to get thrown out of your job. Think about your family, Eric. Think about them."

"I've got a son at home," came the whispered reply. It was tinged by reflection and grief, a type of grief that was so intense it threatened to wash away all newly built empires and their respective inhabitants.

"Don't we all?"

And with that the voices faded to the background, replaced by a whirling cyclone that had so far only throbbed in the recesses of his mind. Thoughts of inadequacy rose up to enthral him once more, as though he were their plaything and nothing mattered so as long as they were content, but the dull ache in his heart and the emptiness of his stomach made Jake realise that his thoughts were right. Gazing into the darkness that went on endlessly before him, he realised that Jack had always been the one keeping them adrift.

_The mast was broken, _he reminded himself, not satisfied that the dealings were all on him, _the mast was broken and he'd get you all killed. It's a good thing you left. You can…you can get out of this. You've been in handcuffs before. You know how to get out of them._

Of course he had been in handcuffs before, but those bindings around his wrists weren't handcuffs. It was simply an old cloth that one of the guards had found on their trek down there – a cloth that had been used to mop up old spills and various blood stains. Sparrow Boy had never released himself from a cloth before, and he didn't think it would be all that difficult until he remembered there were no tricky mechanisms or slightly rusted locks to take advantage of. There was just a single knot placed a little way above his hands, the creased fabric folded into itself to make it expressly hard to get to and even harder to pull apart, causing his brow to furrow in frustration as his body wriggled to get a better position. His knees had been starting to hurt, after all.

"For all the Saints of New England…" he mumbled angrily whilst grappling with the cloth, "Damn thing! Dammit! For God's sake!" the sharp rap at the door made him jump, snapping his jaw shut to avoid any more confrontation from the guards who listened in. They would see him trying to escape otherwise, and that wouldn't help him in the slightest.

"No blaspheming!"

Of course. He was on a ship full of Holy men. The thought made him want to laugh; if his father had been locked in fabric next to him, he would have done so in earnest.

But the space beside him was empty, and the night was becoming cold. A chilled breeze drifted through invisible cracks in the door, striking him to the bone as his mind went beyond the confines of his prison.

"Dad," his voice was a shadow of what it had been before, "Please. I'm sorry."


	21. How the Night Goes On

To everyone that remained on the Pearl, Jack had slowly slipped into insanity. The more time passed that Jake's room was left unoccupied saw his father descending into a new Hell, a fresh Hell that was populated by sharp-toothed Devils and whatever remnants of alcohol-induced nausea that plagued him, all the while his mind whirled with where his precious son could be.

The memories of his childhood came about as he staggered to and from his own room, not daring to even glance at the door which led to the boy's sleeping quarters. Too many wounds remained unfixed. Too many days had been spent nursing the broken arteries of his heart, and to look upon Jake's empty room would have only worsened the bruises that still lingered there.

Gibbs understood. He tried to at least with his valiant maps and stoic vigils beside Jack's door, knowing that he would be needed should the captain think of more places they could search. Every day the bearded man was forced to wonder if his brave friend had finally lost all sense of reason, washed away not by the sirens of the sea or the isle on which he'd been abandoned but, rather, by his own flesh and blood. That would have been a turn in events that no one had anticipated.

Yet, for irony's sake, he managed to huff out a laugh when he imagined it. Jack's luck was always quite peculiar.

"He's gone mad, hasn't he?"

Selina's sad face hovered by the banister, where it had been since her beloved Jake's disappearance and Jack's swift descent into madness. Soft white arms propped her against the sturdy wood, her rosy cheeks made rosier as the wind battered viciously against the hull and threw her wild brown locks in the air, as untameable as the water that softly assaulted their ship. In fact, when Gibbs stared into her sapphire blue eyes and saw the agony there, it was a wonder that the girl could have ever been considered 'tame.'

"Jack's always been mad," he replied honestly, a great bear grip on the patch of wood beside her whilst his huge frame leant to watch the ocean, "It's just 'e's good at 'iding it."

"Will he be better when Jake comes home?"

Would he? That was a question even Gibbs couldn't answer, knowing full well that his captain's background wasn't the best thing to go by. Sometimes, he would spring back like nothing had happened. Other times he would just slip further and further until the darkness took him, all sight of Jack lost to the madness's murky depths.

But instead of sharing his grim mood with the girl, he simply patted her shoulder and said, "All will be well, little Shelly. Jack's Jack – it's impossible ta bring him down fer long, and Jake's a tough biscuit if ever I saw one. They'll both be fine. Just give it some time."

Time. Selina had all the time in the world at one point, locked away in her bedroom like some tragic princess of old as she waited for some valiant knight to gallop through her village and take her away from it all. Freedom was a new feeling for her; she was suddenly allowed to travel from pillar to post, the wind in her hair the only guide whilst she unexplored the world in its entirety. The exhilaration in her heart was genuine, not forced like when she had to meet a suitor or attend another tedious banquet with her father and his associates, and with every beat she felt herself growing closer to the horizon before them.

But then Jake had disappeared, and the horizon went with him. The moon hovered over them aimlessly as cast a silvery sheen across the water, as though urging them to quicken the wind and find the boy they cared so dearly about. She could tell even the elements wanted him returned with how sorrowfully they attacked them, every last ounce of strength reserved for the battle that was no doubt coming.

"Gibbs!" they turned to the sound of Jack's voice. There stood the pirate against the worn doorway, steadying himself carefully with two calloused hands as he fixed them with a hardened stare, a wild thing's stare.

"Jack?"

"Patrols in the area. Any of them?" his words came out slurred whilst he found sense to stagger to his wheel, which made the former first mate chase after him in a fatherly manner and attempt to catch his stumbling body. Any hands that met his sides were soon batted away, if only because he wanted to retain some sort of authority in front of their young guest.

"Not that I know of, captain. Tis a little far off fer any patrols; we're closer ta England than anywhere else."

"Barbosa's ship?"

"Not seen 'ide or 'air of 'im, sir."

"I don't care about him; what about Hank?!" the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Jack could only imagine the trials Jake and Hank faced together, the legends that would be left untold as they struggled through boyhood with each other's comfort. There was a sense of defeat for Jake whenever he spoke about him – a defeat that could have been avoided had the circumstances been different, had he never met his father and kept on working in that sooty Blacksmiths with his beloved mentor at his side. It always cut a little deeper than Jack intended it to. But then, usually, he would look down at his son's eager face and remember that he wanted to be there, which often made the heavy stone of responsibility lift from his stomach and allow him to focus on the tasks at hand.

Gibbs looked at his friend cautiously, "Ain't seen the ship, so we ain't seen Hank."

"Find him. Find him and Barbosa and those sea-sponges he calls a crew."

"Why?" the crewmate was careful to shoo away Selina in soft gestures, as though Jack would become offended if he out rightly told her to go away. If anything, the captain would have been grateful for it.

Ringed fingers clunked against the wood of his wheel as Jack looked out to the sea, careful to note every soft disturbance that could have been ship or sea monster. The silvery back rippled unbrokenly which made him, infamous captain that he was, remember all the times that he had sat there with his son and admired the night, with the stars shining down on them as they discussed matters of no importance. The platinum plated balls above them would twinkle with the same mischief that Jake possessed, though their pointed angles proved no match for the wicked imagination of his boy. They would dull in comparison to his genius. They would extinguish themselves if they could only get a mere glimpse of the brilliance that lay beneath him, taught out of both necessity and as Jack so often claimed, 'genetic potential.' In his haze of memories the captain almost forgot his friend was there, and the only time he realised it was when Gibbs brought his hand to his shoulder to rouse him back to reality.

"Why?" he repeated, unsurprised the man had ignored him.

"Because," the plan had made so much sense when he had thought of it, "We're going to need their help."


	22. Detour

"I swear to God, you touch me with that and I'll show you why pirates aren't allowed on land."

Sparrow Boy was thrust against a wall as the captain loomed towards him, a sponge in his hand that was soaked with some sickly smelling fruit. Juniper berries lay all around them whilst all he could do was struggle, praying that his father would suddenly appear before them and save him from the soldier's clasped around his arms.

"You're such a brute," the white wigged man was tutting whilst he brushed it over his face. The water ran down Jake's cheek and seemed to chill his very bones, dripping on the wooden floor beneath him only to seep into the levels below. It was unfortunate for the chef that it chose to land in his cooking pot, but it did add some flavour to his hair-laced soup.

"Kind of the point for a pirate," his retorts were met with a swift slap to the head, "You take orders from this guy? Really? I've met babies that can fight better than him. I don't think he can fight babies!" as soon as the words were out of his mouth Jake dared to thrust his shoulders forward, which made his captor leap back like a frightened kitten on the edge of a cart. Brown eyes glared into deep blue ones whilst the soldiers thrust him back to the wall, his teeth bared as though he would tear the throat out of the pompous man in front of him. If only his father were there. They could have easily made an example out of him, at least tied him to a life raft and sent him off to his superiors.

"You shouldn't be so vicious! It could land you in a lot of trouble!"

"You're taking me to get my head cut off. What more trouble could I get into?"

"I could lock you back in the cupboard."

That earned him instant silence from the little pirate son, who hadn't thought of his prison since he had been let out of it. The soldiers were all loyal men – they were careful when they had asked for his release, pleading for humanity when they weren't allowed to bring him food or even give him water to drink, granted none of them wanted to be the ones responsible for him. It was best not to stain their hands with someone so temperamental. After all, Jake was the famed pirate who had pillaged many a treasury, the same child who scoured the seven seas in search of riches and had seen things that they wouldn't ever have the misfortune of seeing. Legends shrouded that boy almost as tightly as his sarcasm, and that was a surprising comparison considering his deftness of the art.

A smile edged its way on the wigged man's lips, "Good. I'm glad we've got that mess sorted out. Now, be a good boy and close your eyes; we can't have you smelling like this."

Further out to sea, where the gulls screeched and the great Kraken laid in peaceful slumber, Hank stood at the edge of the mast to look out at the horizon. The sun glared in his eyes as he squinted, peering at the blurry shape of a boat that he would no doubt be pillaging in a few hours' time. How he tired of the constant routine. He wished that he could go back to the arms of his mother and forget about his vengeance, the boy that had killed her and everything that came with sea-life; namely, the dolphins.

His black clothes were riddled with the stench of uncleanliness. Months had passed in which Barbosa insisted they didn't wash, his exclamations of 'pirate pride' met only by disgruntled protests and sudden vacancies after some questionable deaths. The foul odour of 'pirate pride' was enough to make men's eyes water. Indeed, if Hank were to see his nemesis in that state, his face would have been red with embarrassment.

"What ya see, lad?" his captain cried from the wheel. It had been hours since the child went up there and, though he had provided him with some dull observations about whales, he'd said nothing of importance. For a time he considered marooning him on some island just as he had done Jack, but the memory of what became of that made him cautious to do so. He didn't need another headache.

"Boat," came the weary reply, "Looks important. Soldiers in red coats – I'm guessing Englishmen. Where's there's English, there's money."

"Wise words of the poor, lad."

"Seem right enough to me."

That was one thing Barbosa had noticed; the complete lack of enthusiasm in Hank's words. He had become almost resigned to his fate in recent months, as though their continued encounters with Jake and his constant escapes had finally begun to wear on the child. As the captain stared up at his lean frame, highlighted by the sunlight that streamed forth whilst seagulls circled above him, there was a slight foreboding in his heart, like something was about to happen that he'd no power to stop.

"Get the men. Prepare the cannons."

"No point."

"Questioning me orders, lad? Dangerous business!"

"The orders aren't worth it. These guys don't know how to fight. Right now, I see three of them arguing over a sandwich. You know what's in that sandwich? Lettuce. Anyone who fights over a lettuce sandwich won't fight when they've got a knife pointed at their throats."

The boy's eyes were sharp, sharper than any man they knew. They had rivalled Sparrow Boy's when they lived beside each other – with ease Dodge would spot the smallest of escapes, see frayed edges were others would see razor-cuts, and that had helped him in his mad quest to become a famed thief. It had only been when he stepped upon that ship that his skill actually became useful, if only to kill his once-great friend.

"D'you think the men mind a detour?"

A smile played on his thin lips, "I think they'd love it, sir."


End file.
